Unthinkable
by SerpentClara
Summary: Alternative ending to OotP. Hermione faces a dilemma at the Department of Mysteries. She has to choose between protecting Harry... or helping the man she secretly loves. The problem is, he's a Death Eater... HG/LM, GW/TR
1. Hermione's Secret

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe and its components belong to their creator, the talented J. K. Rowling. I make no money and intend no copyright or trademark infringement with this work.

Alternate ending to OotP. Hermione faces a dilemma at the Department of Mysteries. She has to choose between protecting Harry … or helping the man she secretly loves. The problem is, he's a Death Eater …

_Ch.1:_ 'Girl talk' between Hermione and Ginny almost reveals the former's best-kept secret. This happens during the Christmas holidays in Hermione's fifth year.

This will be a short (seven chapters at most) and dramatic story which will be updated sporadically while I'm working on my main fic, _His Mistress_.

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— CHAPTER ONE —

_**Hermione's Secret**_

A bushy-haired girl sat at a desk, scribbling furiously on a scroll of parchment. The table wobbled every time she chose to lean her elbows on it, its legs making an aggravating clanking sound against the wooden floor. It was the only sound in the room, apart from the scratch of her quill.

Minutes passed. She put down her quill, recapped the bottle of ink, rolled up the parchment and put it into a trunk by the table. Then she pulled out a heavy, leather-bound book out of the trunk and sat back down.

The room was insufficiently lit, giving it an air that some would have described as gloomy or desolate. This girl, however, didn't mind the tarnished chandelier glimmering over her head and creating moving shadows on the ceiling. Her head was bent over the book, strands of bushy hair falling into her face. The candelabra on the table shed a flickering glow on her, but as long as it provided enough light for her to decipher the minuscule writing on the dog-eared page, she was happy with it.

The girl looked up from her book and glanced around the spacious room. She rather liked the old-fashioned, medieval kind of style, so different from what she was used to in the Muggle world. Instead of repelling her as they did Harry, the serpentine relics and dark atmosphere of this house fascinated her with their mystery. She felt excited to know that she was in a typical example of an old wizarding house, the first she had seen since entering the wizarding world. The Burrow didn't count.

She still had to share a room with Ginny, but at least in this room, there was enough space for both girls to do their own business without having to share the dressing table, the wardrobe and the couch. But Ginny still annoyed her with her incessant chatter, distracting her when she simply wanted to be left alone to read in peace and silence.

_This house is in a desolate condition_, she thought sadly, her eyes lingering on the paint peeling from the walls. The windowpane was incrusted with grime and the shabby street behind it was not pleasant to look at. It was obvious that Grimmauld Place was located in one of the poorest, most neglected districts of London. As for the dusty velvet curtains, dark green in colour, they could have looked fine if they weren't so visibly moth-eaten.

She had noticed that Harry didn't like the house, finding it hostile and foreboding. But Ginny wasn't complaining. It was much more spacious than The Burrow and the furniture was in a better state. For the first time, Ginny Weasley had enough space to store all her clothes and school things in the wardrobes and drawers.

Right now, Ginny was lying on her stomach on her bed doing her Charms essay, which was due for the day they were to go back to Hogwarts after the winter holidays. How Ginny could write in such an uncomfortable position, Hermione couldn't fathom, but every time she suggested they share the desk, the redhead would retort she liked it more this way.

Hermione, who had completed her all homework on the first day of the Christmas holidays, went back to the book she had been absorbed in moments ago. It was a heavy tome entitled _Know Thine Enemy: Defending Oneself from Dark Forces_. Not only did Umbridge teach them nothing about practical defence, but even the theory they learned in class was useless and quite rudimentary for their OWL year. But of course Hermione had taken it upon herself to read up on what the Ministry didn't want them to learn at Hogwarts. The DA was good for practice, but it was always useful to learn more advanced spells.

This year's Defence Against the Dark Arts textbook, _Defensive Magical Theory_ by W. Slinkhard, was the most boring reading material Hermione had ever had the misfortune to look at. Oh, how she hated that foul, evil, twisted Umbridge woman and her horrid clique of Slytherin sympathisers …

She closed the tome and pushed it away to the corner of the desk.

"Done with your reading, Hermione?" Ginny chirped from the other end of the room.

"I can't concentrate. Not with … oh, forget it. Let's talk about something else, alright?" She brushed a rebellious strand of hair out of her face and looked over at the redhead. "So, Ginny. How was your term? Are you sure you don't need any help with Transfiguration? I remember from last year, fourth-year lessons are quite complex …"

Ginny was shaking her head emphatically.

Hermione sighed. "You know, Ron's still whining about all those boys staring at you …" She winked at Ginny, whose face had suddenly split in a grin.

"I went to Hogsmeade with Michael Corner!" Ginny said excitedly. "It was so romantic, with the snow falling on our heads … you know? We went to this lovely teashop …"

"Michael Corner?" repeated Hermione, furrowing her eyebrows. "Isn't he a Ravenclaw?"

Ginny grinned. "Yeah, fifth year. He's a very nice boy. He bought me this pretty pink dress and those flowers … but don't tell Ron! You know how he would react …"

Meaning that this boy was clever enough realise that the way into Ginny Weasley's heart was through buying her the things she wanted but couldn't afford. Hermione would never admit it, but she was tempted to agree with Ron on this: Michael Corner's intentions were definitely not as innocent as Ginny wanted to believe.

Strangely, Hermione didn't feel like talking some sense into her friend. Was Ginny really her friend? Could she consider Ginny a friend when she knew that the younger girl would want nothing to do with her if she knew her darkest, most terrible secret?

The sixteen-year-old prefect sighed. Ginny, who was younger than her by a little less than two years, could be extremely immature at times. Especially when it came to clothes and boys. Ginny was also annoyingly curious and _bouncy_. The Weasleys' only daughter was always so full of energy that she could hardly sit in place for a minute _without talking_. Hermione herself had once been a bundle of energy, but she had grown out of it. Ginny hadn't.

To be completely honest, she was jealous of Ginny and her silly but uncomplicated love life. Ginny was so lucky …

Ginny had developed a crush on Harry when she had first seen him when she had been ten years old. But she had been too young to know what love really was, and by the time she had been old enough to understand it, she had got over the whole thing.

It wasn't so for Hermione, who had found herself slowly falling in love with a man she had glimpsed before and whose memory would rush back to her until it turned into a full-scale infatuation. Something that horrified Hermione to no end, not because she hadn't felt such things before – she had felt something similar for Gilderoy Lockhart, though never so intensely – but because of _who_ this man was.

And the knowledge, the reality of it was so terrible … It was more than forbidden – it was _unthinkable_. She was probably the unluckiest girl on earth. Not only was there no chance that he would ever pay her any attention, but he would also gladly kill her, because she was a Muggle-born and a friend of Harry Potter.

How could she have fallen in love with someone like _him_? How could she have been so stupid?

Perhaps Ron was right about her. Perhaps she was a weak-minded girl who was attracted to good-looking men. Because he was good-looking, no one could deny that … He was probably the most handsome wizard she had ever met.

The frightening idea of Harry, Ron or Ginny finding out her secret was always present in the back of Hermione's mind. She had no illusions about what would happen if they did find out: her only friends would turn their backs on her.

She remembered Ron's reaction at the Yule Ball and his accusations of 'fraternising with the enemy'. Oh, if Ron found out about _this_ …

But the worst part was that while Harry and Ginny hadn't begrudged her for going to the Ball with Viktor, she was sure they _would_ cast her out for her feelings for someone each of them had personal reasons to hate.

Ginny chose the wrong moment to start what would be a momentous conversation with her friend. "How're things with Viktor?" she asked, her bright brown eyes twinkling.

Hermione glared at the younger girl. "How many times have I told you that Viktor and I are _just friends_?" she snapped. "Is that too hard to get through your skull? Your brother I can understand – he's a boy and an immature one at that. But _you_, Ginny?"

"Whoa, Hermione, no need to bite my head off!" exclaimed Ginny, waving her hands apologetically. "You went to the Yule Ball with him last year and most people kind of assumed you were a couple."

"I thought you realised why I accepted to go with Viktor!" said Hermione hotly. "It's not like another boy had asked me before he did and I had no idea if anyone was going to ask me at all! If I refused, I risked having to go to the Ball without a partner. Imagine how Parvati and Lavender would have laughed at me!"

"But you didn't _have_ to," retorted Ginny. "You could've asked someone else yourself, if you didn't like him."

"Who? Neville?" Hermione shook her head. "You went with him; you should know. And even if Ron had decided to ask me earlier, I'm not sure I would have said yes. I mean, do you remember his dress robes? That hideous purple colour that clashed with his hair, and those lace cuffs – goodness, Parvati and Lavender would have laughed at me worse than if I'd gone _alone_!"

She looked at Ginny, whose eyes were no longer twinkling. At least she wasn't laughing. More calmly, Hermione continued:

"And I have to say … I was rather flattered when Viktor invited me. I mean, he had a whole club of girls following him everywhere, some of them very attractive, but he didn't ask one of them – no, he chose to ask _me_ instead. Me, the plain Muggle-born … I didn't even _think_ about saying no, Ginny, because I told myself, that'll show them! It was my revenge on all of them, Pansy Parkinson and her crowd. Can you imagine how I felt when I saw them gaping at me? They couldn't believe the famous Viktor Krum would take someone like me to the Yule Ball. Yes, yes, I was very happy, but from there to actually _fancy_ Viktor …"

Hermione didn't look at Ginny. She was staring down at her hands as she spoke. "I've never liked him, Ginny! Not in _that_ way. In fact, I … sort of … like someone else," she said quickly, blushing. _You have no idea how hard it was to say these words_. _To admit it at last._

"Oh," said Ginny, looking very interested. "Who is it?"

Every now and then, Hermione wished she could confide in someone – it would make things easier. But she was so ashamed of her feelings that she would never be able to look Ginny in the eye if the younger girl knew. And Ginny would most likely never speak to her again. Ginny was one of the last people to whom she could confess something like this.

Ginny had never fully got over her first year. She never talked about it, but Hermione could see it in her bright eyes, how they flashed at the mention of the Chamber of Secrets incident … and the one responsible for it. Harry and the others hadn't noticed because they had never watched Ginny like Hermione had, nor were they girls. But Hermione _had_ watched Ginny carefully and she had come to the conclusion that Ginny hated _him_.

"I'm sorry, Ginny, but I'd rather not say."

"Don't worry, I won't tell my prat of a brother … oh, come on, Hermione, I'd _really_ like to know!"

"No," Hermione said with finality.

"Oh, a secret?" Ginny said mischievously, knowing how futile it was to argue when Hermione had made a decision. "All right, all right … but you _can_ tell me how long you've liked him, whoever he is?"

Hermione looked at her friend. She was taking a risk if she answered that question … she knew Harry had probably seen her blush that day, but she was sure he had thought it had been out of anger. Harry didn't understand girls, as proven by his shaky relationship with Cho. But Ginny … Ginny _was _a girl; she wasn't clueless like Harry and Ron … and if Ginny had noticed that Hermione had_ blushed_ when he had looked at her like that …

No, Ginny had been too busy watching Harry.

"Since the summer before last year," Hermione whispered finally.

"You mean you met him at the World Cup?"

"Not exactly …" she caught herself, and, hoping Ginny hadn't noticed her slip of tongue, said hastily, "In a manner of speaking, yes."

But her friend wasn't as inattentive as she would have wished. "What do you mean, not exactly?"

"We had met before," the words rushed out before Hermione could bite her tongue at the thought of what that encounter had resulted in for Ginny.

"Do I know him?" Ginny asked suddenly. Hermione was acting really strange. It was unlike her to give such short, reluctant answers. Normally, she was eager to tell everything there was to tell about a topic, but right now she sounded as though she was being interrogated at her trial for some sort of crime.

"Depends on what you mean by _know_," muttered Hermione.

Ginny looked blissfully clueless. "Have I met him?" she clarified.

Hermione's eyes shot back to hers in a sort of tragic apathy. "Yes. Yes, you have." _There's no one you hate more. _She turned to examine the window, as though she found it painful to look at her. "I'm sorry, Ginny."

The words were spoken in such a low voice that it took Ginny a few seconds to decipher them, and when she did, her confusion grew to new heights. "What do you have to apologise for?"

Hermione didn't turn and Ginny stared at the side of her face while she repeated, "I'm sorry, Ginny."

There was a minute of silence, with Hermione looking anywhere but at Ginny, while the redhead watched her friend curiously, wondering who it could be that Hermione was in love with and why she felt the need to act contrite for it. The older girl looked very embarrassed about it too, so it was most likely someone Harry and Ron wouldn't approve of … _Someone_ _I wouldn't approve of either_?

Hermione broke the awkward silence she could no longer stand. "So, we can safely say your infatuation with Harry is over, right, Ginny?"

Ginny's freckled face flushed at the mention of her childhood crush, not out of embarrassment but out of anger.

"Oh yes, I'm so glad it's over," she said strongly. "I'm ashamed of myself every time I think of the way I used to act! Can you imagine that I was afraid to _speak_ when Harry was in the room because I didn't want him to think I was the loud-mouthed brat my brothers said I was?"

"You're lucky it was just Harry, Ginny," Hermione said offhandedly.

Ginny bristled visibly. "And what is that supposed to mean, _just Harry_?" she demanded.

"Well," Hermione's lips quirked in an uneasy smile, "it's not like it was a Death Eater, was it?" she said jokingly, though the smile didn't reach her eyes. "I mean, Harry's one of the nicest boys at Hogwarts …"

Ginny let out a strangled laugh. "I suppose …"

"You see? It could've been much worse. Unless you felt that way about your diary 'friend'," Hermione suggested shrewdly. "Riddle."

"_No!_" Ginny exclaimed, looking aghast. "Hermione, I never fancied You-Know-Who! Hell no … I mean, who would? Tom was good-looking, yeah, but he's a heartless madman, him and his followers …"

"It has been said," Hermione interrupted in a brisk tone, "that we don't choose who we fall in love with. Unfortunately." _And believe me, I know how true that is_.

"Well, yeah," agreed Ginny, "that's true – I definitely didn't want to follow Harry around like a lovesick puppy! But I mean, really, who would love You-Know-Who … or some Death Eater? A girl has to be completely nuts to be attracted to one of those cruel bastards …"

"I agree," Hermione said in a slightly choked voice. "That's crazy."

_Did I just admit I am – how did she say it – 'completely nuts'? But Ginny's right – it _is_ crazy._

Before Hermione could come up with what to say next, the door opened and Mrs Weasley poked her head into the room. She was wearing an apron and looked cheerful, although there were dark circles under her eyes. _Probably still worried about Arthur's snakebite_, speculated Hermione.

"Lunch!" called Mrs Weasley.

"Oh – right, Mum," said Ginny. "Hermione, are you coming?"

"Go on," she told Ginny. "I'll be there in a minute."

"Hurry up, dear, the food will get cold," Mrs Weasley told her. "You're looking a bit pale; a good warm meal is just what you need to fix that."

Why did all Weasleys believe food was the answer to all problems? No wonder Mrs Weasley wasn't exactly … slim.

"I won't be long," she assured Mrs Weasley, smiling.

"All right, dear. Ginny, come help me with that salad."

Ginny got up and sullenly followed her mother out of the room. "But Mum, I hate cooking!" Hermione heard her complain on the staircase.

The older girl watched her leave, sighing deeply. _Oh, Ginny, if only you knew, _she thought sadly.

Hermione was in love with a man who would never look her way. Actually, no, that wasn't true. He had looked – no, stared – at her for at least a minute last year, in a way that had made her blush. That had been the moment she had begun to fall in love with him, not that she hadn't admired him before. She had regarded him with awe, fear and a secret admiration, but all these things had gradually turned into another, stronger emotion … she hardly dared to admit it to herself. She was in love with …

A Death Eater. A Dark wizard who looked down on all who were not of pure blood.

She knew he would never care about her. To him, she would never be a true witch, because her parents were Muggles. She was the cleverest in her year, but this was beyond her intelligence. Nothing she did could possibly impress him. He would never see her as anything but a _Mudblood_. No, there was no way she could prove herself to him even if she tried. And she would have to betray her friends …

To gain his attention, she would have to betray Harry, and she could never do that. How many times had he saved her life? In first year he had saved her from a horrible death by a troll's club; in third year from a hundred Dementors … perhaps, if she had the slightest chance, she would still have thought about it, but this wasn't worth it. There was no point in trying because no matter what she did, he would never look at her that way. If only she wasn't Muggle-born …

It could not have been worse. Then again, actually, it could. It could have been You-Know-Who. Maybe it was a good thing that she had never met him. But Hermione had to wonder, despite what Ginny said, whether the redhead had _really_ had feelings other than friendship towards Tom Riddle. It was likely, because Ginny had been a naïve, impressionable young girl …

_Look who's talking_, said a nasty little voice in Hermione's head. _You weren't eleven. You were fourteen – almost fifteen – and you considered yourself more mature than most girls your age._

Ginny hadn't known that Tom Riddle was evil when she first wrote to him._ But I … I knew who I was looking at. _

Yes, she had known, though she had not wanted to believe Harry's words, not even when he had come back later that year, injured after his duel with Lord Voldemort, and told her and Ron pieces of the story …

Hermione pressed her palm to her forehead and wondered for the hundredth time what she could have done to deserve this. To have such feelings towards someone like _him _…

The _Muggle-born_ Hermione was in love with a man who had sleek blond hair and cold grey eyes, and who was twenty-five years older than she. Not that it mattered – age difference hadn't stopped her from developing a crush on Professor Lockhart when she was twelve … but _he_ was a Death Eater. One of Voldemort's most trusted followers. The one who had been in charge of the group levitating a family of Muggles for 'fun' at the Quidditch World Cup. The one who had slipped Riddle's diary into Ginny's school things.

And he was married.

At least he was not Voldemort … but close enough.


	2. Department of Mysteries

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe and its components belong to their creator, the talented J. K. Rowling. I make no money and intend no copyright or trademark infringement with this work. The dialogue in the first part of this chapter has been quoted verbatim from chapters 34 and 35 of _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix_. The events, however, have been changed to Hermione's point of view.

_**Ch.2**_: Instead of being hit by Dolohov's curse while trying to defend Harry, Hermione gets separated from Harry in the maze and happens to overhear two Death Eaters discussing something … and decides to take action.

Here's the first part of the scene we've read at the end of OotP, but written from Hermione's point of view and with minor modifications that have major repercussions. Yeah, look just how little it takes to change everything …

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— **CHAPTER TWO —**

_**Department of Mysteries**_

"Harry, I don't think you should touch it," Hermione said sharply as she saw Harry extend his hand towards the dusty glass orb. She didn't know what it was, but she knew something bad would happen if he picked it up.

Hadn't Harry ever read how dangerous it could be to touch strange objects in the wizarding world? Well, actually, he probably hadn't, since he didn't read much, but he had firsthand experience! The Triwizard Cup had been a Portkey. This inoffensive-looking glass globe could easily be a Portkey to Voldemort too. Or something even worse.

"Why not?" Harry retorted defiantly. "It's something to do with me, isn't it?"

How convenient that Harry had spent the year _dreaming_ about this place, and it was specifically _here_ that Sirius was supposed to be held, but there was no sign of Sirius, no sign of a living soul, only this little magical object made specifically for Harry, labelled with his _and_ Voldemort's names … _If Voldemort's not involved in this, then I'm not a prefect,_ reckoned Hermione.

"Don't, Harry," said Neville.

Hermione's eyebrows shot up in surprise. _Good going, Neville_, she thought approvingly, hoping Harry would at least listen to Neville, since he felt like ignoring her warnings as usual.

But Harry decided to prove, once and for all, that he was a reckless, immature child who listened to no one. "It's got my name on," he said rebelliously, and Hermione held her breath as she watched him put his hand on the glass sphere and lift it off the shelf.

Call it intuition, but she couldn't say she was surprised by what happened next.

She and the others reluctantly moved closer to Harry to take a better look at the small globe of glass, when something happened that made them jump while Hermione froze, feeling as though all air had left her lungs.

"Very good, Potter. Now turn around, nice and slowly, and give that to me."

Hermione had no difficulty recognising that voice.

Against her will, she turned around to look at the one who had spoken. He was masked and hooded in the typical Death Eater attire, though his proud, powerful stance distinguished him from the other cloaked figures who were emerging seemingly out of thin air. His grey eyes were fixed on Harry, and he was the only one who did not have his wand drawn.

The Death Eaters must have been under Invisibility Spells, because Hermione knew for a fact that it was impossible to Apparate in the important magical buildings such as Hogwarts, the Ministry of Magic, St Mungo's, and Gringotts Bank. The Ministry's entrance hall, or Atrium as it was called, was the only exception.

Hermione's face became deathly pale. No longer could she deny what Harry had been telling everyone since the end of last year. Even though she had known that Harry had no reason to lie, she had hoped, deep down, irrationally, that he was somehow mistaken, as far-fetched as that was. Even when the whole thing had been published in the Quibbler, Hermione had still hoped it wasn't true. But now she had seen the evidence with her own eyes.

When she had sat on the Thestral earlier that day, following Harry to 'save Sirius', she hadn't known she would be facing her worst nightmare. Voldemort, maybe, but not _him_. Not him, the Death Eater, the murderer whom she loved in spite of it all …

Aware that her breathing was coming in short gasps, Hermione turned away and stared at Harry instead, wishing she knew how to cast the killing curse. _Damn you, Harry, damn you to the lowest depths of hell,_ she thought. How dare he bring her here … She had been telling him all along that it was a trap; she had even warned him not to touch that glass ball, but the daft Boy Who Lived just had to choose this as the time to start his teenage rebellion …

If she hadn't been too frightened to move, Hermione would have punched Harry in the gut. Or slapped him across the face … She didn't know which option would have made her feel better.

Ron, Neville, Luna and Ginny were standing farther behind Harry and Hermione. They all had their wands in their hands, but looked too scared to use them against the much more numerous and experienced Dark wizards, so the first three settled on staring apprehensively at the group of Death Eaters.

Ginny, however, was watching Hermione. The bushy-haired witch was frozen in place, looking so pale Ginny thought she would faint. But she regained sense of herself rather quickly and turned her head purposefully away from the Death Eaters … and towards Harry.

And Ginny was shocked by the expression on Hermione's face. The older girl's countenance was very white; her breathing was quick and shallow with fear, but as she turned her head to glare at Harry, something terrible shone in her eyes. It was hatred.

Ginny started thinking she must have imagined it, because there was no other explanation, none at all … then she remembered something. Something Hermione had said in one of their conversations during the Christmas holidays at Grimmauld Place. _In fact, I … sort of … like someone else,_ Hermione's words echoed in her head._ Since the summer before last year … _How Hermione had avoided her eyes and evaded her questions almost guiltily …_ I'm sorry, Ginny. _And that fake smile that didn't reach her eyes, sad and resigned …_ It's not like it was a Death Eater, was it?_

Ginny let out an audible gasp. She knew the others probably thought it was out of fear, but actually it wasn't. It was realisation.

_Bloody hell, _was all she could think.

Hermione must have heard Ginny's gasp, because her eyes shifted away from the oblivious Harry, who was too busy staring in horror at the hooded wizards to notice the hostile glare sent his way by his female best friend. Hermione's eyes bore into Ginny's bright ones with a painful intensity, challenging, daring the younger girl to say anything. But Ginny was too shocked to make a sound.

At length, Hermione looked away from the horrified Ginny. In the back of her mind, she was already worrying about what would happen _if_ they all got out of this with their lives intact. She shared a _room_ with Ginny, and the girl was going to make her life unbearable now, she was convinced of that … No, now was not the time to fret about the future, resolved Hermione, concentrating on the dialogue between Harry and _him_.

Harry asked where Sirius was, as though he still hadn't realised Sirius wasn't here at all and it had been just a dream, and was greeted by laughter and triumphant jeers from the Death Eaters.

"Now give me the prophecy, Potter," Mr Malfoy demanded for what sounded like the fifth time. He certainly had a lot of patience.

Oh, so this glass sphere – the weapon – was a _prophecy_ … It alarmed Hermione that in all the books she had read about the wizarding world, there was never any mention of the existence of real prophecies.

"I know Sirius is here!" proclaimed Harry, "I know you've got him!"

Hermione could not believe what she was hearing. Harry still hadn't gotten the drift, had he? He still thought his dream had been real? Dear Merlin … could a person really be _that_ dense?

The horrible masked woman who had mocked Harry earlier gave a strident laugh.

"It's time you learned the difference between life and dreams, Potter," drawled Mr Malfoy.

_Well, what _was_ I trying to tell Harry?_ If only he had listened to her, they wouldn't be here, risking their lives for a silly_ dream_ …

"Now give me the prophecy, or we start using wands."

_Please, Harry, be reasonable,_ thought Hermione, _that thing isn't worth our lives._

But for the nth time that evening, Harry demonstrated a deadly lack of common sense.

"Go on, then," Harry said carelessly, raising his wand. _Idiot_, thought Hermione as Ron and Ginny copied Harry's action, followed by the more uncertain Neville and Luna. Finally, Hermione raised her wand as well, if only not to stand out in the group. What was Harry thinking, preparing to fight against twelve fully trained Dark wizards? Goodness, they were all going to die …

Hermione instinctively moved behind Harry. She hated him for bringing her here, but she knew he would try to protect her, seeing as it was his fault she was here in the first place. At least she hoped he would. Or was this bubble of glass more precious to him than his friends' lives?

"Hand over the prophecy and no one need get hurt," Mr Malfoy said impassively.

Hermione felt a surge of gratitude, but it looked like Harry wasn't impressed.

You-Know-Who had probably not told his followers to kill anyone, only to get the 'weapon', and they wanted to get this over with as quickly – and cleanly – as possible. But Harry didn't understand this …

When the fanatical witch with long dark hair, whom Hermione had recognized as Bellatrix Lestrange from the picture that had appeared in the Daily Prophet after the Azkaban breakout, tried to summon the prophecy from Harry, Hermione actually hoped she would succeed, so that the Death Eaters would let them leave unharmed.

But the woman failed. Enraged, she tried to use the Cruciatus Curse on Ginny. Harry bravely moved to protect her.

Hermione noted that the Death Eaters looked taken aback when Harry asked what kind of prophecy it was.

"Nope, not jesting," said Harry. "How come Voldemort wants it?"

The masked group flinched and made disapproving sounds. So did Ron, Ginny and Neville behind her. Hermione noticed, rather absent-mindedly, that_ he_ was the only one who gave no visible reaction when Voldemort's name was spoken out loud.

"Did you know he's a half-blood too?" Harry said casually.

Hermione gasped, her eyes going wide. Was Harry lying? No, he sounded serious. But really … Lord Voldemort, a half-blood? And those pure-blood elitists followed him? Oh, if that was true, the Death Eaters weren't not going to react well to this … "Voldemort? Yeah, his mother was a witch but his dad was a Muggle," supplied Harry, "or has he been telling you lot he's pure-blood?"

Most of the Death Eaters looked enraged, but no one more than the Lestrange woman. If Harry's goal had been to make Mrs Lestrange lose control, he had succeeded. True, Harry had a talent for riling people into incoherent rage and he knew it.

Quick as lightning, Lestrange sent a Stunner at Harry, but Mr Malfoy, whose wand was in his hand in a split-second, somehow made the red light change directions and hit a shelf on Harry's left instead.

Two glass globes on the shelf shattered upon being hit by Lestrange's spell. Transparent, vaporous forms emerged from them, speaking predictions in hoarse voices that were hard to hear over the disputing pair of Death Eaters.

"DO NOT ATTACK! WE NEED THE PROPHECY!"

"He dares – he dares –" Lestrange screeched, "he stands there – filthy half-blood –"

"WAIT UNTIL WE'VE GOT THE PROPHECY!"

Hermione shook her head in dismay. The Death Eaters would never carry out a mission successfully if they spent their time arguing amongst themselves while their enemies took advantage of it to think of a way out. Sure, Mr Malfoy seemed like a good leader, if not a bit authoritative, but if the others were too insubordinate to listen to him, just as Harry had refused to heed her warnings …

Their lack of coordination was their weakness, while Harry's group acted as one, unquestioningly doing what Harry said, or if they had any misgivings, they kept them to themselves, realising that now was not the time to bicker.

"You haven't told me what's so special about this prophecy I'm supposed to be handing over," stated Harry.

Hermione hoped Harry had a plan to get them out of this while he was making chitchat with the Death Eaters, and it turned out that she was right, because the next second she felt Harry's foot stomp on her toes. What a crude way of gaining her attention! "What?" she said as quietly as she could, terrified that the Death Eaters would notice the exchange, thinking at the same time, _why me?_

But it seemed that something Mr Malfoy said about Dumbledore keeping secrets from Harry had made him forget about whatever he had been planning. "_What?_" Hermione murmured insistently to the back of Harry's head.

The Death Eaters started laughing over a joke Mr Malfoy had made, and while they were distracted, she heard Harry hiss, without turning around, "Smash shelves …"

What did Harry mean? _Smash shelves_ … right now? No, surely not … what was the point? These were stupid instructions …

"Dumbledore never told you?" said Mr Malfoy in gleeful amazement, "Well, this explains why you didn't come earlier, Potter, the Dark Lord wondered why –"

Hermione was completely mystified by that. Why would Harry want to come to a secret area of the Ministry of Magic of his own accord?

"… when I say _now_," muttered Harry, and it took Hermione a moment to piece things together. Did he mean … _oh!_ Harry wanted the five of them to use the Reductor Curse on the shelves above the Death Eaters' heads simultaneously, when they were least expecting it, so that it would give them time to run and hide?

She hoped Harry would keep the Death Eaters distracted while she relayed the message to Ron, Ginny, Neville and Luna, or else she would be in horrible trouble.

But Harry was clever enough to understand this, somewhat to Hermione's surprise at this point, and he kept the Death Eaters' attention diverted. She lost track of the conversation while explaining Harry's plan to the others in low whispers, but when she was done and all four of them had the instructions, she was shocked that the Death Eaters still hadn't noticed the interaction. Then she realised exactly _how_ Harry must have kept the Death Eaters distracted: by pissing them off.

"… got you doing his dirty work for him, has he? Like he tried to get Sturgis to steal it – and Bode?" Harry deduced boldly, much to Hermione's irritation.

_And who was it who figured that out, Harry? I don't think it was you _… but the Boy Who Lived tended to get credit for things he didn't do …

"Very good, Potter, very good …"

_Why, thank you!_ thought Hermione, torn between irritation and an inappropriate amusement._ I've got an understanding of how you think, haven't I? It does help that if I were you, I would have done the same …_

"NOW!" screamed Harry.

It didn't seem to have occurred to Harry that they were breaking a dozen Ministry laws and could be charged with trespass, vandalism and attempted robbery, Hermione thought as she aimed her wand at the shelf farthest away from them and shouted, "_Reducto!_" causing it to explode in splinters of wood and glass. None of those hit anyone, but the others hadn't been so considerate with their aim; she had distinctly seen Ron point his wand at the ceiling, which resulted in shards of cutting material littering them as well as the Death Eaters.

Hermione felt bad about destroying Ministry property like this, but it was the only plan Harry could think of, and she was too terrified to think of something better.

There was chaos as shelves tumbled down and spheres split open over their heads, fragments of glass flying everywhere. Hermione bowed her head and shut her eyelids tight in fear of receiving one in her eye. She wished she were wearing spectacles like Harry.

Harry grabbed her robes and dragged her forward. Hermione wrenched herself out of his grasp irritably.

"I don't need you dragging me around, Harry! I can walk on my own!" she yelled over the racket of even more collapsing shelves and breaking glass.

Harry didn't stop running, and he kept looking straight ahead as he yelled back, "You looked scared stiff! You would probably still be standing there if I hadn't!"

"Go grab Neville instead," Hermione shouted, seeing the chubby boy had just tripped over something and was attempting to stand up, "_He_ looks like he needs some help!"

This jerked Harry out of his confrontational mood, and he hurried over to Neville. Hermione didn't wait for him.

"Harry! Neville! Come _on_!" she shouted over her shoulder and continued running past the rows of glass spheres in the direction of the door through which they had arrived. She caught sight of Ron and Ginny dashing towards another door on the side; she opened her mouth but they disappeared through it before she could tell them that the exit was the other way –

She threw the door open and raced inside, slamming it behind her and magically sealing it. A moment later, she realised she must have gone the wrong way as well, because this didn't look at all like the room they had come through. It was dark; she wanted to use her wand for the Lumos Spell but decided not to. The light would attract the attention of any Death Eater who happened to walk past.

Her eyes adjusted to the darkness and she could see that she was in some kind of corridor. There were portraits on the walls, but they were empty frames, and there were no torches, no candles, and no windows, but a faint glow seemed to be radiating from the floor itself, allowing Hermione to see the outline of her surroundings.

The initial relief at having escaped both the Death Eaters and Harry, whose presence she had difficulty enduring right now, disappeared as Hermione realised that, for one, she had no idea where she was. Two, she didn't know where the exit was either, and three, her classmates were probably still trapped out there, outnumbered two to one, fighting the Death Eaters.

Bangs and yells resonated through the door Hermione had locked; she put her ear to the wooden door, trying to get a gist of what was going on outside.

Instead, she heard _his_ voice shouting orders at the other Death Eaters. "… split into pairs and search, and don't forget, be gentle with Potter until we've got the prophecy, you can kill the others if necessary – Bellatrix, Rodolphus, you take the left; Crabbe, Rabastan, go right – Jugson, Dolohov, the door straight ahead – Macnair and Avery, through here – Rookwood, over there – Mulciber, come with me!"

_What do I do?_ Hermione thought wildly. Mr Malfoy's orders were terribly well thought-out. If the search was done in such a systematic way, it would be efficient. There was no way the Death Eaters would miss any place she or her friends could have hidden in. _Oh, goodness, what do I do?_ she wondered, her entire body trembling.

She knew she had to get away from the door, in case one the Death Eaters walked through it, so that at least they would not see her straight away. She advanced cautiously into the unlit passage and stood near a wall, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible.

A minute passed, and then a Death Eater emerged from a door Hermione hadn't noticed before, at the other end of the passageway. He was walking with his back bent, as though permanently stuck in a bow, and was headed in her direction.

He hadn't seen her yet. But he certainly would; the corridor was narrow and she wouldn't be able to avoid being seen if he were to pass next to her.

In a desperate attempt, Hermione raised her wand and tapped herself over the head with it, hoping it would work. She felt a chilling sensation spread over her, as though a torrent of cold rain had been poured on her head. When she looked down at herself a moment later, she saw that she had melted into the surroundings like a chameleon. Not invisible, but hard to notice unless they were looking for her in particular.

When Harry had told her and Ron about the spell Mad-Eye Moody had used to get him to Grimmauld Place unnoticed, Hermione's interest had been piqued. The next time the ex-Auror had been visiting the Order Headquarters, she had sought him out and asked him about the Disillusionment Charm. Moody had explained it to her, but she hadn't had time to practice it. This was the first time she had cast the spell.

It wasn't fool-proof, but it was the best chance she had. Of course, she would have preferred if she could make herself completely invisible, like the Death Eaters had been, but it wouldn't be wise to try something so complicated in this situation. Invisibility Charms were NEWT standard spells; she had read up on them, and even tried to cast one, but with no success so far. They were really difficult spells, and required a certain amount of power to cast, not to mention _lots _of practice.

"_Lumos!_" said the Death Eater, and the dark hallway was suddenly thrown into clear view. Hermione didn't move and struggled to stifle her erratic breathing.

The Death Eater was halfway through the corridor when the door Hermione had come through clicked open; another Death Eater stepped in, caught sight of his comrade, and hurried towards him. The stooped one paused in his stride.

Huddled together in the middle of what they thought was an empty corridor, they started talking quietly.

Very slowly, very quietly, Hermione shuffled closer to the pair until, flattened against the wall, she could hear their discussion.

"… corridor's deserted, Rookwood, I'm telling you. I doubt the kids even saw that door at all. How about you, Rookwood? Found anyone?" the first Death Eater inquired.

"None," answered the Death Eater who was standing with his back hunched. "No one in the room. I wonder where the little brats could have gone … Merlin knows there are enough nooks and crannies to hide in here. I know them all; I used to work here …"

"Do you think …" the other Death Eater started in a low voice, "we will find them, won't we?"

"Of course we will. They are just kids," the stooped one – Rookwood – said derisively.

"But if we don't … what do you think the Dark Lord will do to us?"

"Don't be an idiot, Avery," said Rookwood, though his voice trembled slightly. "We _will_ deliver the prophecy to our Lord."

"But _if_ we fail," the one called Avery insisted, "do you think he will … _kill_ us for the failure?"

"How would I know?" said Rookwood. "Not one of us can fathom how the Dark Lord's mind works. But let me tell you this, Avery – we are not in charge of this mission. Malfoy is, and if, for some reason, we fail to get hold of the prophecy, it will be his responsibility."

Hermione's eyes widened.

Avery looked relieved. "So the Master won't punish us?"

"No," Rookwood said, looking sure of himself. "He has no reason to. It's Malfoy's job to get the prophecy … actually, you know what, Avery? I think there is a reason the Dark Lord gave this mission to Malfoy. He is risking a lot by coming here … Most of us are known Death Eaters, but he risks his _irreproachable_ reputation if he is sighted …" Rookwood sounded more than a little resentful.

Hermione felt the urge to scoff. Lurking around casting Imperius Curses under the nose of the Minister for Magic … irreproachable reputation indeed. Too bad not many people believed the story in the Quibbler, where Harry had named him as one of the Death Eaters … Hermione wasn't sure whether she was supposed to feel outraged or relieved.

Rookwood's next words jerked her out of her thoughts. "I think this is a test for him. The Dark Lord hasn't forgiven him for not coming to look for him in Albania, and this mission is his chance to redeem himself. His _last _chance. If he fails it …"

"The Dark Lord will kill him," said Avery in a hushed voice.

In the shadows, the Disillusioned Hermione inhaled sharply.

"Yes," declared Rookwood, sounding _very_ unconcerned. "You saw how desperate he was, in the Hall of Prophecy? How he argued with Bellatrix, how he panicked when she was about to hex Potter … usually, he is a lot more composed than that. But the idea of the prophecy getting smashed has him really, really worried. He tries to hide it, of course, he always does, but you can see he is worried. He fears for his life …"

_No … this can't be happening … I will never be able to live with myself if it happens …_

"It would be nothing less than he deserves," continued Rookwood. "_Some of us_ spent a decade in Azkaban while he lied his way out by denying the Dark Lord, and our Lord did not even punish him! And now he comes back and orders us around, we who have always stayed loyal to the Dark Lord … how dare he … he is no better than that scum Karkaroff who sold me out …"

Avery shifted uneasily. He, too, had claimed to be under the influence of the Imperius Curse, and hadn't used his freedom to try to find Voldemort.

Rookwood interpreted Avery's silence correctly, and chuckled harshly. "You were a low-ranking servant, Avery … It was no surprise that you denied all involvement like the coward you are." Avery made a sound of indignation, but before he could protest, Rookwood spoke again. "You were a lowly servant, and not one of the most intelligent either. But Malfoy … Malfoy was the Dark Lord's most trusted, his advisor, his right-hand man! The Dark Lord relied on him to help him if anything happened …" Rookwood fell silent, then spoke again.

"Tell me, Avery … why did you lie to the Dark Lord? Why did you tell him Bode could remove the prophecy, when you knew he could not? He punished you well for that one, didn't he?"

Avery shuddered visibly. "I knew … but I thought the Dark Lord would punish Malfoy for his Imperius Curse not working. I though Bode would be able to fight it … you know him, he was always strong-willed, and it was like ordering him to kill himself. I thought he would throw it off –"

"You fool!" interrupted Rookwood. "Malfoy is more powerful than you – or any of us. His family is the oldest in the country! With ancient blood like that … not to mention they've been involved in the Dark Arts for thousands of years … you are lucky the Dark Lord let you live."

"But I didn't know!" wailed Avery, "I had no idea it would turn out like that! I didn't know the Dark Lord would be so angry –"

"Hush, Avery, keep your voice down. Macnair's lurking around, and you know how he would rush in to defend his old pal Malfoy." Rookwood laughed harshly. Avery sniggered nervously.

"WE'VE GOT HIM!" a voice with a rough eastern-European accent echoed through the walls, "IN AN OFFICE OFF OF THE TIME ROOM!"

The two Death Eaters glanced at each other and set off in the direction of the Time Room. And Hermione, still under the Disillusionment Charm, followed them. How ironic that her goal was now the same as theirs … _get the prophecy_.

Hermione had always been quick to think in dangerous situations. Panic prompted her into thinking. Panic forced her to find a solution. Like when Umbridge had caught Harry in her office, Hermione had thought up a plan of escape in less than a second. When she saw Umbridge about to cast the Cruciatus Curse on Harry, a desperate plan had formed in her head, prompted by the thought of her friend being in danger.

Harry …

She remembered the looks on her friends' faces when they thought she was going to betray them to the Ministry, in Umbridge's office … Ginny had looked at her as though she didn't know her, and Neville had been staring at her in disbelief … Ron's eyes had expressed shock and horror, and Harry had had an unreadable expression in his green eyes … poor Harry.

Harry, her best friend who had saved her life several times … Harry, who trusted her with his life.

Harry, to whom she was going to lie … Harry, whom she would have to trick, taking advantage of his blind trust in her …

Whatever was in that prophecy concerned Harry, obviously, it was _about_ him. And if Voldemort got it …

_I'm sorry, Harry, but I have no choice._

Whoever said love was a positive emotion … Whoever claimed love was a good thing … whoever thought so didn't know the truth.

Love could be more terrible than hatred, because it was so much stronger.

Love was a dangerous emotion, because it overpowered all others. It was an emotion that overpowered reason itself. When faced with love, nothing else mattered … like friendship, allegiance, duty … all became nothing. Even the concept of right and wrong lost meaning in the face of love. Only love mattered. Even if it was unrequited and there was no chance of it ever being returned …

Hermione had always been a Gryffindor, noble, self-sacrificing, altruistic … True Gryffindors helped others without expecting anything in return.

Love was an emotion that could make people do terrible things …

Such as kill themselves … or betray their friends.

_I hope you'll forgive me someday, Harry._

This was suicide, but she was going to do it despite the consequences. The terrible consequences – giving Voldemort the weapon he sought.

_But you probably won't, and you shouldn't. I don't deserve it._

No, she couldn't expect Harry's forgiveness, not when she didn't think she could ever forgive _herself_ for doing this.

But she was sure she would _never_ forgive herself if she didn't do it. Not after what she had heard.

She was the cleverest witch in her year, people said … the brains behind the 'Golden Trio' … Soon she would be able to add another title to the list: _the Traitor_.


	3. Fraternising with the Enemy

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe and its components, including characters, places and spells, belong to their creator, J. K. Rowling. No copyright or trademark infringement is meant with this work.

* * *

— CHAPTER THREE —

_**Fraternising with the Enemy**_

Hermione followed the two Death Eaters through the door and past the long rows of shelves covered with prophecies.

They emerged in the room that 'glittered', as Harry had put it, and contained Time-Turners of all sort. Hermione was now sure that the one she had used in her third year had come from this room, though she couldn't help wondering what the other, larger ones on the shelves were used for. Maybe they sent a person back days instead of hours, or maybe forward, into the future?

Rookwood and Avery, still unaware that she was following them (she walked as quietly as possible, and she was still Disillusioned) strode through the Time Room and towards a closed door on the opposite wall. One of them tried to wrench it open, but it would not bulge.

"_Alohomora!_" said Rookwood.

The door swung open, revealing a spacious room with a dozen wooden desks in it, most likely the office of the Unspeakables who worked there. It was not a bad place to work, noted Hermione. A bit too _underground_ and isolated, but fascinating nevertheless.

"_Stupefy! Stupefy!_" she said quickly, pointing her wand at the two Death Eaters who had inadvertently shown her the way out of the dark corridor and to the Time Room. Taken by surprise, they didn't have time to dodge the jets of red light. Hermione felt a surge of ruthless satisfaction as they toppled over and lay immobile.

She then patted herself on the head with her wand, removing the Disillusionment Charm, and stuck her head through the open door. She saw several unconscious Death Eaters on the floor and other figures huddled under the desks. "Harry!" she called.

An unruly black head poked out from under one of the desks. "Hermione!" answered Harry's voice. "Where are the others?"

"I don't know! _Prote_**—**" she started as a Death Eater jumped out from behind a large filing cabinet. He raised his wand in a slashing motion and opened his mouth to speak an incantation.

Harry rushed forward and shouted, "_Petrificus Totalus!_"

The Death Eater collapsed. Then someone else crawled from under the desks. Hermione recognised Neville, whose nose was broken and bleeding.

She muttered a spell to stop the blood flowing down his face.

"Danks, Herbione," Neville said through his blocked nose.

"I'm sorry, but I don't know a spell to help with the pain," she said. "I'm no expert at Healing; you'll have to have Madam Pomfrey look at it." Then she caught sight of another motionless form on the floor. It was Luna Lovegood. "What happened to her?"

"He hit her with a purple flame – that's what he was trying to cast on you," said Harry, clearly worried, probably by the question of where Ron and Ginny could be. He was about to leave the office to go searching for them.

Hermione stopped him. "Harry, I've got an idea!" She grabbed his arm and steered him back inside the room, closing the door behind them and sealing it with a "_Colloportus!_"

She stared at Harry, who looked perplexed. From the corner of her eye, she could see Neville listening intently from the corner. "I've just figured out something," she said. "Harry, you have to give me the prophecy."

He looked sharply at her, bewilderment in his emerald-green eyes. "Why?"

_Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry_, she thought, _but I have to do this._

"Think, Harry … the Death Eaters – they all believe you have it on you, they're trying to summon it from you, they'll never expect it if _I_ have it instead. They'll never expect it, I'm telling you! And as long as they think you have the prophecy, they won't attack you – they're too scared they'll hit it accidentally – but if you don't really have it, there'll be no risk of actually smashing it, and you'll have both hands free to fight!"

She could see Harry catching up. "But – but what if they go after you instead?"

"They won't," she said, trying to reassure him. "They won't know you gave it to me. I'll put it in my pocket and no one will know."

"Hermione –" started Harry. They could hear crashes just outside the door.

"Please, Harry, they'll be here any second – hurry up –" she prompted as there was a sound of footsteps getting closer.

"But –"

"I know what I'm doing, Harry," she said sternly. "Give me the prophecy. I'll hide it."

"All right, but I hope you _really_ know what you're doing," Harry said and held out the glass sphere.

_I hope so too, _Hermione thought as she took the prophecy and tapped it with her wand, casting an Unbreakable Charm – the same spell she had used on the jar to hold Rita the Animagus – as a precaution. She then slipped it into her robes.

"Harry, gather the others and go down to the black hallway – I think you have to say '_exit_' and it'll show you the correct door – go down to the Atrium …" Hermione broke off. Go down to the Atrium and what? She was about to say 'and raise the alarm', but now that she thought of it, it didn't sound like a good idea anymore. Raise the alarm and what? Get arrested by Aurors for trespass at the Ministry, like Sturgis Podmore, and spend six months in Azkaban?

"No way! Hermione, I won't leave you here!" said Harry fiercely.

"I know what I'm doing, Harry! Please, trust me on this! You didn't listen when I told you this was a trap, or when I warned you not to touch the prophecy, but please, listen to me just this _once_!" she cried, desperation in her voice.

It worked. Harry felt guilty and found nothing to say in his defence. In the meantime, Hermione removed the locking spell from the door and pulled it open.

"Where are you going?" asked Harry anxiously.

"I told you, I'll hide the prophecy!" she said over her shoulder. Not waiting for an answer, she dashed off, her Hogwarts robes swirling behind her.

The most difficult part of the plan was over. Now all she had to do was to find the tall Death Eater with cold grey eyes … and avoid being killed in the process. It would be anticlimactic to be killed by the side she was for once trying to help. But they didn't know she had the prophecy, she reminded herself. They thought Harry still had it, and that was why they hesitated to attack him. She would be given no such consideration.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy halted, breathing quickly. He had been chasing the children through the rooms and corridors for the past half-hour, and in spite of his increasing worry about the prophecy, he was having fun. He only regretted that Potter was hiding elsewhere. It would have been amusing to see Dumbledore's favourite boy darting for cover to escape the Death Eaters, like a year ago in that graveyard. Nevertheless, the two Weasley children provided much entertainment, terrified as they were. Didn't they realise they could never hide successfully, with hair that colour?

His eyes were gleaming with amusement, which dimmed to be replaced by worry as he thought about the prophecy. If one of his idiotic comrades hit the boy with a spell, or if the boy tripped … The thing was fragile, it could easily be smashed … and he dreaded to think about how the Dark Lord would react if that were to happen. The Dark Lord would be beyond angry … He had been planning this mission for almost a year … If the plan failed, he would face the brunt of his Master's wrath.

He felt a tug on his sleeve. Startled, he whirled around to face the person behind him.

It was one of Potter's friends, the brunette girl with wild hair. And in her hand was a glass sphere – _the prophecy_. It looked as though she deliberately held it well in sight, as though she wanted him to see that she had it. But the strangest thing was that she was _smiling_.

There were few things that could surprise him. This one did. For a moment, he thought he was seeing a mirage. This could be a trap, but … he stared at the prophecy. It was so close … all he had to do for reach for it … but what if there was some spell on it? Why else would Harry Potter's friend offer it to him?

He looked at the prophecy, then at the enigmatic girl who held it. He recognised her as Potter's Muggle-born sidekick, the one who had been sitting next to the boy at the Quidditch World Cup and who hadn't looked away from his gaze. The girl his son constantly ranted about because she beat him in every exam. By the sound of it, she irked Draco nearly as much as Potter did, and this had intrigued him from the start. How could a girl of no wizard family possess such intelligence and magical power?

She was quite pretty, actually. Her coils of dark hair reflected the light of the torches with a golden sheen, and her skin had a golden undertone to it. Her brown eyes sparkled, and her cheeks were flushed a bright pink, whether from running or something else, he did not know. In a daring move, she grinned at him, and he saw two rows of even, shiny white teeth.

Not to mention that she had a rather nice body under those robes of hers, he mused. Fairly developed for a fifteen-year-old … or was it sixteen? In any case, the Hogwarts robes loosely outlined her slender waist and her breasts. But a year ago, at the Quidditch World Cup, he had had the chance to see her curves, plainly shown to advantage by the snug Muggle clothes she had been wearing. And, even though he could not tell for sure because of those robes, it seemed like she had matured, physically speaking, during the past year …

She threw a terrified glance in the direction of the door, as though expecting Potter to walk through it, then she looked back up at him and her dark eyes shifted meaningfully to the prophecy in her hand.

He was about to demand that she give it to him, but she seemed to anticipate his words and held it out, the small sphere resting in the crook of her palm. He extended a hand towards it slowly.

The glass orb felt warm to the touch, and he gazed at it triumphantly, hardly believing this. He had got it … he had succeeded in this mission. The Dark Lord would reward him greatly; he would be his highest-ranking, most favoured follower …

The girl spoke. "I put an Unbreakable Charm on it, sir," she said. "He – well, you know who – will have to remove it." She had an authoritative sort of voice, though it sounded breathless.

He placed the glass sphere into a pocket of his robes, then looked back at the girl who was standing there silently, watching him, looking at once guilty, relieved and wistful. A most unusual combination.

"Hermione Granger, isn't it?" he drawled, his eyes darting to the visitor's badge pinned on her chest, under a Hogwarts prefect's badge. "Well, I have heard much about you … naught of which could have prepared me for this. I was told that you were an intelligent and prudent girl … but not this prudent."

She blushed at the compliment; the pink tinge on her cheeks turning into a bright shade of crimson, accentuating her innocent air. He thought it made her look alluring.

He reached out a hand towards her. Her eyes went wide in surprise, but she stood in place unflinchingly.

His hand came in contact with her skin, and she shivered visibly at the touch.

He trailed a finger down her cheek. Looking intently into her brown eyes, he could see a veiled joy there. Yes, she was indeed a pretty thing, he decided, so delicate and receptive.

"You have my gratitude," he said softly. She blinked in amazement as his hand moved to caress her, er, _abundant_ hair. "You betrayed Potter. I wonder why …"

She looked at him blankly, and if he didn't know better, he would have thought she was about to faint from shock. Then the dazed look in her eyes started to clear and she looked rather thoughtfully at his masked face. "I … may I ask you a favour?"

"A favour?" he repeated. "If it is to let your friends leave unharmed … you heard what I said down in the Hall of Prophecy. None of them would have got hurt if Potter had just handed over the prophecy instead of running off to play hide-and-seek. We are not here to kill anyone. But the foolish boy did not believe me, did he?"

"I know … Harry can be an idiot sometimes," she conceded. "Actually, no, that's not what I was going to say."

"Then what is it, pretty girl, that you want?"

She blushed nicely. "I only ask one thing of you, Mister Malfoy … remember me. That's my request," she said in a whisper, looking down. "And Stun me, so that they don't realise I did this of my free will," she added.

"My dear girl, please believe me, I will not forget the one who betrayed Potter anytime soon. And as you have saved me a great deal of trouble …"

Oh, certainly, the sight of her holding out the prophecy was not one he would soon forget.

He had never truly paid attention to her. But now that her actions had forced him to look past the 'just a Mudblood' label, he saw the girl who had very probably saved his life … the girl to whom he owed a wizard's debt. She was very different from Narcissa, but pleasant to look at nevertheless. So young and sweet …

Her voice brought him out of his reverie. "Please, gather your – erm, _associates_ and leave before the Aurors arrive … or Dumbledore does." The concern in her tone was unmistakeable.

"Do not worry, the Dark Lord is waiting for us up in the Atrium," he said.

Predictably, the girl looked horrified.

"In the A – Atrium? But I didn't see him!" she exclaimed. "I didn't see anyone there!"

"Do you really think the Dark Lord would stand in the hall of the Ministry of Magic, in view of anyone who happens to pass near? He used an Invisibility Charm to conceal himself from common eyes, just as we did so that your friends would not see us upon entering the Hall of Prophecy."

She smiled roguishly. "But sir, why are you telling me this? I'm an _enemy_," she said dramatically.

He wondered how this girl could maintain such a playful, relaxed disposition in this situation … it was astonishing, really. Didn't she realise she was at the mercy of a high-ranking follower of the Dark Lord? But she didn't seem to be afraid of him … in fact, it looked like she feared_ Potter_ more.

"We are no enemies, surely?" he said mockingly. "An enemy would not be doing errands for me. You are no enemy of mine. And as no one would go to the trouble of tricking their friends to come to the aid of an enemy, you obviously do not consider me an enemy either."

She looked down for a second, guilty and embarrassed, but she regained her mischievous attitude quickly. "You speak too much, Mr Malfoy."

In the back of her mind, she was wondering why she felt so at ease. She tried to imagine what it looked like, if someone were to see her now, dare she say it – _flirting_ – with a Death Eater, and she suddenly found herself understanding the true meaning of the phrase _fraternising with the enemy_.

"And you _think_ too much," he replied. "I can see you struggling with your principles … for Lord's sake, do choose a side already."

She looked up at him, surprised by his words. Why was it that people could read her like a book? Why couldn't she hide her emotions like others did? Instead, her face always betrayed her … though sometimes it was better this way. There were things she would never find the courage to tell even if she wanted to, and it was a blessing that people could guess simply by observing her.

Then again, what he had just said posed a valid question. Which side _was_ she on? Not the Light, judging by what she had just done – but not the Dark either. She didn't support Voldemort. She never would … she couldn't.

She stared into the grey eyes glinting through the eyeholes in his black hood, the only feature of his face she could see. When not filled with malice and amusement – like right now – his eyes let no emotion show, making them appear devoid of warmth.

"Now, really, tell me why you did it," he demanded.

She looked away rather quickly. "What do you mean?" she said, not looking into his eyes.

"Do not play games with me, pretty girl, as you can never win. Why did you give me the prophecy?"

"Oh …" she sighed. "I overheard Rookwood and Avery talking in the hallway. I Disillusioned myself; they didn't notice me," she said, reluctant to continue. "They were talking about what You-Know-Who would do to you if you came back without it."

"I see," he said slowly. "Rookwood … well, that is no surprise to me. And I do know what my fate will be if I return without it," he said softly, and there was something akin to fear in his eyes for a moment. It was gone in a split-second, leaving Hermione wondering whether she had imagined it. "And as I can see, Potter isn't the only one with a weakness for heroics …"

Only he had no idea Gryffindor nobleness extended as far as to deceive one's friends to prevent the death of an enemy. Would she have felt responsible for his fate, if he had died at the hand of his Master? Would she have blamed herself, because she could have possibly prevented it? Oh, the extent of Gryffindor inanity …

She laid a trembling hand on his arm, as though overcome with a sudden wish to comfort him.

There was something wild and desperate in her wide brown eyes, and it stopped him in his tracks when he was about to shake her off, out of irritation and disgust at such contact with a Mudblood. She _had_ just gone to great risks to help him, after all, and she deserved to be treated with consideration.

"Noble as he is, Harry would be glad to see you die," she said quietly.

"But you would not be," he stated.

She shook her head vehemently.

Or maybe her actions were not out of righteous heroism but something else entirely, he thought suddenly. Yes, this girl was too clever to follow Potter in his stupid Gryffindor tendencies.

At the same time, Hermione was struggling to put into words something she didn't want to say – but now was not the time to indulge in Gryffindor pride. This was her only chance, and Merlin help her if she didn't use it to show just how much she admired him. "It was really clever, how you – dealt with – Bode," she said timidly. "The Devil's Snare was a formidable trick. It was … genius."

It sounded as though she was forcing the words out through clenched teeth, and he could understand why. Being who she was, it must have been difficult for her to praise him for a clever murder. He could only imagine the sort of thing her friends would say if they heard her compliment a Death Eater on his wicked ways. He did not show it, but he was genuinely pleased by the compliment, for he could tell that it meant a lot, coming from her.

He did not thank her. Instead, he questioned her on something she had mentioned earlier. "Did I hear correctly? You said you used the Disillusionment Charm."

"I did," she said proudly. It wasn't her habit to flaunt her academic achievements anymore, but just this once … She knew there were few fifth-year students who could cast half the spells she knew, and it was something she secretly took great pride in.

"How old are you, girl?" he inquired.

"Sixteen," answered Hermione.

"I thought so," he drawled. "You are not yet past OWL standard, yet you can cast the Disillusionment Charm … That spell is past the level taught at Hogwarts and is known to few who aren't Aurors –"

_BANG!_

The door was slammed open and the masked Antonin Dolohov, who had recovered from the body-bind spell he had been under, stood there, grinning sadistically. He had his wand out and aimed it at the girl, no doubt preparing to cast his notorious Stabbing Curse.

He placed a hand on the girl's shoulder, silently shaking his head at Dolohov. She clung to him, her eyes wide and scared.

"Out, Dolohov," he commanded. "Tell the others to gather down in the Death Chamber. The hunt is over. I have the prophecy in my possession."

Dolohov left wordlessly.

Hermione let out a breath of relief. Antonin Dolohov was a scary fellow, and after what he had done to Luna … She looked up at Mr Malfoy again. He was still holding her shoulder, and she had to tilt her chin upwards to meet his gaze, because he was much taller than her. In her moment of fright, she had relied on him for protection …

He opened the door an inch, peeking through it. There were blasts and flashes of wandlight in the corridor; it looked like three of his fellow Death Eaters were in battle with Potter.

"ALL DEATH EATERS REPORT DOWN TO THE DEATH CHAMBER!" he bellowed over the crashes and yells, and heard more crashes as they scrambled to obey.

He turned back to Hermione. "As for you, my little helper … until we meet again. _Stupefy!_"

She let the jet of red light hit her in the chest. Her last thought was, _I hope he doesn't get caught_.

She was unconscious before she fell, but her back never hit the floor. He caught her in mid-fall and carried her to an out-of-the-way corner, where he gently set her on the ground.

* * *

Harry and Neville had, by now, found Ron and Ginny in the Brain Room. Ron was trying to free himself of the brain which was wrapping around him, while Ginny was sitting on the floor clutching her ankle, her back against the wall, her eyes closed.

Ginny looked up suddenly, her bright eyes travelling around the room and stopping on Harry. "Where's Hermione?" she asked shakily.

"She went to hide the prophecy," explained Harry.

_Oh, no!_ Ginny took a sharp intake of breath. "You gave it to her?" she said, horrified.

"Yeah. What's wrong?"

"Everything," said Ginny. She tried to stand up, then she winced and slid back down the wall. "Harry, we _have_ to find Hermione," she said weakly. _Before she finds __**him**_, she thought.

Minutes later, Harry did find Hermione, unconscious on the floor in one of the offices adjacent to corridor. He felt a surge of horror and a terrifying thought filled his mind: _what if she's dead? It's my fault if she died … she was trying to protect _my _prophecy …_

"I should never have listened to her," he told Neville. "I shouldn't have let her face them alone … I should have gone with her …"

Neville checked her pulse and announced that she was alive, and the heaviness in Harry's chest lifted.

When the five Order members arrived, they found the Department of Mysteries in shambles as they had expected, but it was deserted except for a bunch of unconscious individuals scattered around the various rooms. Two of these were Death Eaters while the others were Hogwarts students.

There was no sign of the group of Death Eaters they had been expecting to encounter, and this made them fear that they had arrived too late. If the Death Eaters had already left … They would not have left without the prophecy.

"Dumbledore will have our heads for this," growled Moody, his magical eye spinning. "Damn, he's coming," he said on second thought.

Sirius, who had been extremely unwise to come here in the first place – he was an escaped convict hunted by the Ministry and he had the nerve to enter the Ministry building itself, undisguised no less! – couldn't care less about what Dumbledore would say as he went searching for his godson.

"Harry!" Sirius called frenetically, "where is Harry?"

"_Sirius!_" a frantic Harry exclaimed, with relief and delight, as he ran towards his godfather. "Thank Merlin you're alright, Sirius!"

Remus Lupin's eyes became shiny as he watched the reunion. Tonks smiled despite herself and even Moody found no paranoid remark to make.

* * *

"_Enervate!_"

Hermione's eyes shot open to see Dumbledore's worried face looming over her. It felt like he was looking right through her, and with a horrible jolt in her stomach, she realised what was happening. She remembered Harry talking about Legilimency …

In sheer panic, Hermione knew at once that she had to justify the guilt the Headmaster had probably seen in her eyes. She had to disguise it as something else so that he wouldn't look deeper … She decided to use the old trick of making them think she was a stuck-up idiot, like when she had told Professor McGonagall that she had gone after the troll because she – a first-year – had thought she could handle it on her own.

"What – where's Harry – the Death Eaters – what happened?" she said in a scared voice. She made a show of plunging her hand into her pocket as though to check if the prophecy was still there. The question was, was it good enough to fool Dumbledore? "The last thing I remember is being engulfed in red light … The prophecy! It's gone!" she cried, "Oh my goodness … it's my fault … I'm so sorry … _oh,_ _Harry!_"

Let Dumbledore think she was blaming herself for foolishly thinking she could hide the prophecy and thus making it easier for the Death Eaters to summon it from her and Stun her afterwards. She _was_ feeling sorry, true, even though she had known what she was doing …

She was sure Ginny had to be watching her with narrowed eyes right now.

"Mr Potter is quite unhurt. As a matter of fact, I am sure he is trying to hold back the urge to destroy my office in his worry about you as we speak," Dumbledore said calmly. "Here, Miss Granger, take this Portkey. It will bring you to the hospital wing." He handed her a piece of wood.

"But I'm not hurt – I don't need –"

"You still need to be checked over, just in case. Poppy would never forgive me if I sent you directly to your dormitory after such an ordeal," said the old wizard, his eyes twinkling behind their half-moon spectacles. "Take Misses Weasley and Lovegood with you; there is no time to make one for each of you – hold onto your friends and say '_Hogwarts_'when you are ready."

Nodding to the Headmaster, Hermione put the wooden square in her pocket and walked over to Ginny. She heard Dumbledore give the same instructions and another Portkey to Neville, telling him to bring along the semi-insane Ron. Ginny gave her a strange, suspicious look, but stayed silent as Hermione seized her arm and helped her stand without putting too much weight on her broken ankle.

"I'm OK!" Ginny said in an annoyed voice and tried to walk, but the next second she staggered and clutched at Hermione's arm as if her life depended on it.

"Come on, Ginny," she said soothingly. "Take small steps, it'll hurt less that way."

She steered the hobbling Ginny over to where Luna lay.

"What have you done, Hermione?" asked Ginny in a low voice.

Hermione tensed, but kept looking ahead resolutely and continued walking as though she hadn't heard the accusing words.

Hermione crouched next to the unconscious Luna, grabbed her wrist, her other hand firmly around Ginny's arm, and said the word to activate the Portkey in her pocket. The next second, she felt a tug at her navel and the room dissolved. Blurry surroundings rushed past her at a speed that caused her to close her eyes in discomfort. They were flying in a rush of air, their ears filled with an indiscernible echo …

* * *

"AAAAH! IT'S SIRIUS BLACK!" the first Auror – Dawlish – shouted shrilly.

Cornelius Fudge jumped a foot in the air, all colour draining from his face. He, Dawlish and the other Auror, Williamson, all looked as though they had seen a Grim.

Dumbledore, who had been duelling with Lord Voldemort mere minutes ago, stood back near a wall, watching them with twinkling eyes.

In an impressive show of heroism, the two Aurors stepped in front of the Minister, shielding him from the escaped convict who was hurrying towards the fireplaces. They raised their wands in their trembling hands and stammered out Stunning Spells.

"_S – s – stup – pe – fy_!"

Laughing, Sirius sprinted over the nearest fireplace. The 'notorious mass murderer' shouted his destination and disappeared in the green flames before the jets of red light could reach him.

"Black, _here_! Sirius Blackinside the Ministry of Magic! Dear Merlin …" Fudge, who looked ghostly pale, tried to regain his breath.

"And You-Know-Who!" added Williamson. "In the Atrium of our Ministry! Good Lord – where's security – how could they have got in?" he said in a kind of disbelieving whisper.

"Black _and_ You-Know-Who in the Ministry of Magic! _Both_ of them!" Fudge was still trembling uncontrollably. And he still hadn't seen Dumbledore, who was leaning serenely against a wall. "Great heavens above … how can this be?"

"… safety measures, Minister! If _they_ got through …" verbalised the shaken Dawlish.

"Yes, yes, you're right, Dawlish … of course, it will be looked into," Fudge said distractedly. He would have to have to discuss means to improve Ministry defences with Lucius the next time he paid a visit to the Ministry …

Thanks to Hermione's treasonous deed, the Death Eaters left the Ministry earlier and were never caught, except for the two who had been seriously injured in battle (Nott and Crabbe seniors). But her action changed much more.

If Harry had known what would have happened if Hermione hadn't done it, he would have thanked her.

In the end, Voldemort got the prophecy, but the duel between Sirius and his cousin Bellatrix never took place, and Sirius never fell through the veil in the Death Chamber. How little it takes to change everything, even what could commonly be considered as fate. But for Hermione, who had for once been acting with her heart and not her detached, rational mind, this was only the beginning …


	4. The Aftermath

_Disclaimer__: The Harry Potter universe and its components, including characters, places and spells, belong to their creator, J. K. Rowling. No copyright or trademark infringement is meant with this work._

Summary: Alternate ending to OotP, non HBP-compliant. Hermione faces a dilemma at the Department of Mysteries. She has to choose between protecting Harry … or helping the man she secretly loves. The problem is, he's a Death Eater …

_Ch.4_: Outcome and explanation of the altered events of the Department of Mysteries; Hermione makes new friends and has a confrontation with Ginny during which the redhead confesses to a dark secret of her own.

A/N: Thank-you to everyone who reviewed the story, and thanks for the patience you showed while waiting for this update.

* * *

"_When you have seen as much of life as I have, you will not underestimate __**the power of obsessive love**__._"  
– Horace Slughorn to Draco Malfoy (HBP Ch. 9)

— CHAPTER FOUR —

_**The Aftermath**_

… _it is rumoured that You-Know-Who and his notorious supporter Sirius Black gained entrance to the Ministry of Magic itself on Thursday night …_

Hermione folded the _Sunday Prophet_ on her lap after a hiss of indignation from Harry. "How dare they blame this on Sirius _again_?" he said angrily.

With the now confirmed news of Voldemort's return, the mood had changed across the country as much as inside Hogwarts. Everyone was angry about the recent events and the Ministry's incompetence, and the anger was mostly directed at Fudge as the leader. There were going to be elections next year, and it was unlikely that he would be re-elected.

After finding out how Kreacher had arranged for Harry to go to the Ministry, Hermione had started to think that maybe house-elves weren't so inoffensive after all, much to Harry and Ron's relief.

She remembered Madam Pomfrey's exasperation when they had Portkeyed into the hospital wing. "First Dementors, then dragons, and now Death Eaters!" the mediwitch had raged while Hermione stifled a giggle. "When will the Headmaster put a stop to this nonsense? This is a _school_, by Merlin –! They're just children; they're here to study, not to face mortal danger!"

Harry and Hermione were the only ones to leave the hospital wing after a short examination that showed them to be completely unharmed. And Hermione still recalled the uncomfortable examination she had had to face at the hands of the mediwitch.

"Do you know what spell you were hit with?"

"Just a Stunner," Hermione had said.

"Hmm." Madam Pomfrey had looked at her sternly. "Where did they find you? The floor, no doubt?"

Harry had spoken up for the first time. "Yes, Ma'am. Neville and I found her unconscious in a corner … on wooden floor."

The nurse poked Hermione in the back with her wand. "You must have hurt yourself when you fell, Miss Granger," she said clinically, moving the wand up and down her back. "Where does it hurt?"

"Er… nowhere, Ma'am."

"Nonsense, girl." The mediwitch looked angry. "A fall like that always leaves bruises. You could have even cracked your skull –"

Hermione unconsciously put a hand to the back of her head. It didn't hurt, and when she drew her hand back, there was no trace of blood on it, much to her relief.

"Really, Ma'am, I'm not lying, I swear. I'm really _not hurt_," Hermione had insisted, unnerved by the nurse's unrelenting stare.

"Miss Granger, you collapsed from a spell on wooden floor and you expect me to believe it when you say you got away with not even a _scratch_?"

_Well, maybe I didn't collapse_, she had thought, but she had known better than to say it. The grimace of disgust she had seen on Ginny's face had been enough.

-

"Listen … I talked to Dumbledore," started Harry. He, Ron and Hermione were sitting in their usual corner of the Gryffindor common room. "The prophecy – the one we saw at the Ministry – it was just a record. Like a copy. Dumbledore heard the real one …"

Without having to cope with both Sirius's death _and_ the prophecy at the same time, Harry had come to terms with his destiny more quickly and was ready to share the terrible burden of the knowledge with his friends. And he had already talked about it with his godfather …

"Did he tell you what it says?" prompted Hermione.

Harry sighed heavily. "Yeah. It's about Voldemort and me … it says I have the power to defeat him."

Ron gasped.

Hermione looked only mildly surprised. "Well, I thought it might be something like that," she said. "I mean, why else would he be so determined on killing you? Why would he go after a _child_ unless he knew … I mean … how can you explain it, that he saw you as a threat as soon as you were born, Harry?"

"But that's not all of it," said Harry heavily. "It says I have to either kill him or be killed by him, in the end … there's no other way." The last words hung in the air ominously.

Hermione's hands flew to her mouth.

"You have to _kill You-Know-Who_?" said Ron in astonishment.

"But p – perhaps there _is_ another way," said Hermione shakily.

"That's what I asked Dumbledore," said Harry. Behind his spectacles, his green eyes were filled with a pained resignation. "There's no escape." He closed his eyes and recited: "… _he will have power the Dark Lord knows not … and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives._"

There was a minute of silence, with Ron and Hermione, who were unusually pale, looking at their best friend with expressions of horror and sympathy.

"Tough luck, mate," said Ron.

"Does that mean …" said Hermione slowly, "if anyone else tries to kill you … it won't work?"

"I have no idea," Harry replied earnestly.

"But … Voldemort knows it by now, doesn't he?" asked Hermione, guilt and anxiety gnawing at her insides. _If he does, it's my fault … and if he doesn't, then I failed. No matter the answer, it's still my fault._

"Dumbledore thinks so, yeah."

Hermione very, very nearly let out a sigh of relief. So Dumbledore had arrived too late to stop the Death Eaters from leaving … she didn't know what she would have done if the answer had been 'no'.

"Power You-Know-Who knows not?" said Ron. It had taken him longer to process the situation, but then again, Hermione had always been the quick one and Ron the slowest … though sometimes that place went to Harry, for instance where girls were concerned. "What power is that?"

"Dumbledore said it was the power of my heart. Love."

Ron snorted, glancing shrewdly at Hermione, who looked shocked.

"Love?" said Ron, "This great power even You-Know-Who doesn't have, but you do, is _love_?" he said, sounding on the brink of laughter.

Harry looked very serious. "Well, yeah, that's what Dumbledore said. It was my mum's love that saved me from the Killing Curse," – Ron sobered at that – "and it's the power that's kept behind that door we couldn't open at the Ministry … Dumbledore called it '_a force that is more wonderful and more terrible than death, than human intelligence, than the forces of nature' _or something like that."

"How true," whispered Hermione. _More powerful than human intelligence_ … _Yes,_ she thought wryly, _so powerful, even_ my _intelligence stands no chance against it._

Harry and Ron's eyes snapped to her in surprise. They hadn't expected their grade-obsessed bookworm friend to know what love was.

-

It was past sunset and the Gryffindor common room was falling into shadows. Hermione was sitting alone near a wall, staring at nothing, or so it appeared.

She turned her eyes in the direction of the fireplace, where Ginny was curled up in an armchair. Her mane of red hair hid her face, but judging by her posture, she was asleep. Hermione watched her idly for a few minutes.

Then Ginny started tossing and turning, mumbling things in her sleep …

Hermione stood from her armchair and crept towards the younger girl, feeling guilty for spying on Ginny like this, but unable to control her curiosity.

"Tom," she heard Ginny sigh.

The bushy-haired girl froze, unable to believe what she was hearing.

Meanwhile, Ginny seemed to become more agitated. "No, Harry … don't kill Tom!" she moaned loudly.

Hermione paused, trying to come to terms with the obvious conclusion of what she was hearing: Ginny was having a nightmare in which Harry killed Voldemort. _Aha!_ she thought triumphantly, _Now we're even. Now I have something to hold over your head as well …_

-

The next morning, Hermione was making her way to the Great Hall for breakfast when she stopped abruptly at the sight that greeted her at the bottom of the stairs.

Harry stood in the centre of the Entrance Hall, his wand out, fury in his face as he glared at a smirking Draco Malfoy. Crabbe and Goyle, who were standing behind the Slytherin prefect protectively, looked equally pleased. _And I_ _think I know why_.

"Well, Potter," the blond Slytherin was saying, "I heard you lured your friends out of the school yesterday because you fell asleep in an exam and had a bad dream."

"You wait, Malfoy," said Harry. His face was a mask of hatred so intense that it made him look scary as he raised his wand higher, looking as though he couldn't decide which hex to use. "One day, you father will get what's coming to him, and the others too, I swear it … one day everyone'll know what scumbags they really are –"

"_Expelliarmus_!" said a voice, and Harry felt an angry force of magic collide with him. He staggered, his wand flying out of his hand.

There stood Hermione, her hair ruffled as though she had just run a long distance. She was holding Harry's wand in her hand.

"Trust me, you don't want to pick a fight in the middle of the Entrance Hall, Harry," she said, just as Professor Snape appeared in the vicinity, followed by Professor McGonagall, who was wearing a heavy tartan cloak. Hermione hurried towards her Head of House, enquiring about her health with concern. The Transfiguration professor was one of her favourite teachers and it was really horrible, how Umbridge's lackeys had attacked her …

At the professor's demand, Hermione returned Harry's wand to him and stepped through the doors into the sunlit grounds without another glance at her bespectacled friend.

The air was pleasantly warm. She walked into a shady area under a tree and settled on the grass near the lake, dropping her bag from her shoulders.

She gazed at the water where the reflection of a passing cloud seemed to move, surrounded by the dark treetops of the Forbidden Forest. She had never really paid attention to the unique beauty of the nature around the school before – she had always been too busy reading one thing or another.

The lake was a clear cerulean colour mirroring the bright sky. On a rainy day, she knew, it would be the same shade as her beloved's eyes … since when did she think of him as her _beloved_? Hermione had no idea that she could be such a silly romantic.

With a slight smile, she recalled how he had protected her from Dolohov, and how he must have caught her before she could fall to the floor when he had Stunned her … and the conclusion that came logically: that he _cared_.

Dazedly, she traced the spot on her cheek where she could recall his touch. She remembered how scared she had been, when she had approached him with the prophecy …

Oh, how she had wished he would look at her, talk to her … how she had longed, desperately, that he would put his arm around her and tell her that he approved. And when he had, she hadn't dared to move, hardly believing this was not some forlorn dream but _reality_ …

He had called her pretty, he had praised her intelligence … he had even touched her. She had never thought he would do that – she was Muggle-born and according to the pure-bloods' philosophy, she was some kind of inferior creature with filthy blood who was unworthy of magic … that was what his son considered her.

Speak of the devil …

"Look – is that the Mudblood?" said a drawling voice, familiar but lacking the maturity, the refinement of _his_. "Everyone knows she has no life, but what's this? Resorting to daydreams, Granger?" Draco Malfoy taunted gleefully. Crabbe and Goyle made loud grunts of laughter.

"Sometimes, knowledge is enough," she said quietly. To her, it was. It was more than she had ever hoped for … and at that moment, Hermione Granger considered herself the happiest girl in the world.

It made her immune to the insults, the knowledge that _he_ appreciated her, that he found her intelligent and attractive … it was her shield and she was sure it would have been enough to create a Patronus on par with Harry's.

The three Slytherins walked away, sniggering, but Hermione hardly noticed. She suspected she had to look a bit smug at the moment, but she continued her reflection … daydream … whatever.

She recalled how, during the past two years, in everything she did, she had found herself preoccupied by the question of "What would _he_ think?" She had studied harder than ever, making it her life's ambition to be the best … all for him, even if he didn't care and never would. Even if nothing could get past his disdain for her non-magical background …

Judging by the expression on his face when he had seen her at the Quidditch World Cup, he had thought she was even more out of place there, in the Top Box with the wizarding elite, than the penniless Weasleys. He had probably felt outraged that a Muggle-born could gain a respectable place in their society, and for a second, she had got the impression that he had secretly wanted nothing more than to push her out of the gilded purple chair, over the wall and into the stadium below.

And yet, it was then that awe and a forbidden admiration, if not straight-out envy, had become something more in Hermione's mind. From that day on, she would find herself crying silent tears nearly every night, thinking about how damned and hopeless she was to love a man who, aside from already being married, considered her unworthy of _life_.

Not to mention that she had no particular beauty … she was a girl who didn't care much about her appearance and didn't believe herself attractive … but then, why had Viktor noticed her? Perhaps she was underestimating herself. Perhaps she did have something that men found appealing … because there was no mistaking the way Mr Malfoy had been looking at her, almost as though he thought she was _attractive_. And when he had touched her like that … she could easily call to mind, right now, the rush of hope that had filled her heart, such hope that she had wanted to cry …

Maybe her body was something they found attractive … maybe that was why Parvati and Lavender gave her glances that looked almost jealous when they were getting dressed in their dorm and could see each other in bras and knickers. She had rather modest curves, when compared to her dormmates, but her mother had told her once that not all men were interested in the 'conventional' female beauty and that some preferred petite, well-proportioned bodies with expressive eyes …

_Be careful, Hermione – in a few years, boys will drawn to you, and the sort of appearance and personality you have will be like a magnet for men who'll try to dominate you. It attracts them like moths to a flame. When they see a strong, spirited woman like the one you're becoming, they'll take you as a challenge. Beware of men, Hermione …_

She didn't understand what her mother been trying to warn her about. What was so bad about that? It was common sense; out of self-respect, she wouldn't let some boy she didn't like touch her. But she wouldn't mind being 'dominated' by _him_ – the thought gave her a strange thrill.

_So_ _this is what it feels like to be in love,_ she mused. How could she stand up to him when she craved his approval so desperately, when his barest touch filled her with such euphoria? Heck, she couldn't even think properly when he was in the room … _I guess this is what Mum meant when she said love was a dangerous thing._

But if only Hermione knew how the fates had to be smirking at her right now …

If only she knew what he had really been thinking when he had pursed his lips in what she had thought was disgust ... if only she knew he had been thinking not about throwing her out of the Top Box for her lowly blood, but something even more terrifying ... something she found herself dreaming about far too often …

-

Ginny left the Great Hall with several of her friends. They walked out into the grounds together, and from afar, she saw Hermione resting by the lake. The older girl looked deliriously happy. It was so rare to see the bushy-haired prefect so relaxed, just doing nothing, without any sort of book in her hand …

Ginny stared with wonder at the radiant face of her friend. _I don't know her at all_, she realised. She knew the studious, no-nonsense Hermione who had no understanding of vanity and no typically feminine preoccupations … such as the damned thing called love.

This girl, however, knew all these things and more … This girl was a _Slytherin _at heart, a ruthless trickster madly in love and ready to do anything to prove it, to prove herself to a man who was nothing short of a cruel murderer.

"A beautiful day, isn't it? Come sit," Hermione called out, patting the grass near her.

Ginny hesitated for a moment, standing there indecisively, watching Hermione as though she couldn't decide how to feel about her now that she knew … finally she nodded, waved goodbye to her friends and plopped herself down on the grass next to the prefect. "What did you do at the Ministry, Hermione?" she accused right away. "How could you do that to Harry?"

Hermione inconspicuously waved her wand in a circle, casting a Notice-Me-Not Charm around them to prevent their conversation from being overheard. "You don't understand, Ginny. I didn't have a choice!"

"You're making no sense. Of course you had a choice."

Hermione shook her head, swatting away a bee that had been hovering near her ear. "No, I didn't," she insisted. "I heard the Death Eaters talking … You-Know-Who would have _killed_ him if he had come back empty-handed!"

Ginny looked sceptical. "Really?"

The brown-haired girl nodded. "When I heard that … it was like something in me snapped. I couldn't bear it, Ginny … that he would die because I had done nothing, when I could have stopped it happening … that it'd have been my fault if You-Know-Who murdered him … it would have killed me, Ginny," she said earnestly. "I couldn't stand it. I couldn't stand doing nothing when I knew his life depended on it."

The redhead appeared taken aback. "You mean you only did it to save that bastard's life? You wouldn't have done it otherwise?"

"No, Ginny, I wouldn't have," confessed Hermione. "I didn't even think of it until I heard them …"

Ginny still looked disapproving, but now that she knew Hermione's motives had been those of a true Gryffindor and that her – albeit foolish – friend was no Slytherin in disguise, her curiosity won and she asked:

"So how did it go? You gave him the prophecy, didn't you?" At Hermione's guilty nod, she said, "Did he ask why you were doing it? I bet he did …"

The prefect smiled sheepishly. "Yes, he was really curious about that. I never answered directly, but I think he got it," she said, her face colouring slightly. "Then he touched my cheek and promised he would remember me," she added in wonder.

The younger girl looked disgusted. "I don't get it, what you see in that – that Death Eater …"

"Oh, don't be a hypocrite, Ginny," said Hermione loftily.

"What'd you mean?"

"I heard you talking in your sleep," said Hermione. "About someone named Tom."

Ginny paled.

"And I thought you would understand …" continued Hermione.

But she was sure that Ginny's hatred was too great. She was probably too blinded by her grudge to let herself look at things from Hermione's point of view. She should have known that Ginny wouldn't act on such feelings even if she had them. _She_ wouldn't have done it either, but she had convinced herself that she had no choice. She had only done it because she hadn't been thinking rationally after she had overheard Rookwood and Avery…

"I told you, I've never _liked_ You-Know-Who!" Ginny denied angrily.

Hermione looked unimpressed. "Then why are you dreaming about him? And why does his death scare you?"

"I don't know, Hermione," she said. "I mean, I'm thinking about Tom a lot, but I've never thought it means … does it?"

The bushy-haired girl smiled. "I'd say it does. If you're thinking about a boy all the time and dreaming about him too …"

"So, you think … you think I fancy … him? Tom … I mean You-Know-Who?" Ginny sounded horrified.

"Yes, I'm sure you do. You should at least admit it, Ginny."

A ragged breath tore from the redhead's throat. "Fine, fine, I love Tom, alright?" she cried. "I'm stupid, I know … he never loved me; he used me, he even tried to kill me, but I still love him. Hell, he doesn't even know I exist … and I still love him. It's hopeless! Oh, I'm so _stupid_, Hermione …"

"Not much more stupid than I," said Hermione comfortingly.

Ginny looked at her for a long moment. "That's not very reassuring," she said finally. "But how could I _not_ like Tom? No one's ever understood me like he did. He was my first friend, the only person who didn't judge me –"

"But Ginny, he might've just pretended; when he said he understood, he didn't really care …" Hermione looked as though she were explaining to a very small child that two plus two equalled four.

"He didn't care, no," said Ginny, "but he understood me. He saw me as more than just another Weasley or a poor little girl who had six brothers … he saw me as my own person. He accepted me for what I was. He never told me off for being naïve or annoying – he accepted me as I was, plain, silly me. He listened to me. He comforted me, even when it was he who had made me cry …

"That doesn't change the fact that he comforted me all the time. He would invite me into his diary, and there, he would take me into his arms and hold me while I cried, telling me it was alright … no one's ever done that for me before. Of my brothers, Percy's the one who paid more attention to me, but even he never comforted me like that. He was always busy with other things … before he left us. Now he has forgotten me, I think.

"But Tom … he understood me. He grew up in an orphanage and his whole life was a quest to prove himself … he understood my need to prove myself because I'm the youngest and the only girl in my family. When I complained for hours about how Ron teased me or how the Slytherins mocked me because I was from a poor family, he told me it shouldn't bother me … when I wailed nonsense about how Harry would never love me, he _listened_ … can you believe it? He actually listened and didn't laugh! I think … maybe he did care about me, deep down … at least a bit. I mean, why else would he do that?"

_You poor, naïve little girl_, thought Hermione. _Still as naïve as you were at eleven … don't you get it, Ginny? He's Lord Voldemort! He's an actor, a pretender, Ginny! You were only a means to an end to him …_

"And then, one day," continued Ginny, "I was sobbing on his shoulder about what a monster I was and how I thought I had opened the chamber, and he smiled at me … can you believe that he, You-Know-Who, actually smiled? And it wasn't a cruel snake's grin, no, it was a gentle smile … he said, '_Hush, little Ginny_,' and then – and then he _kissed_ me. First on the forehead, then on the mouth."

"Was he good at it?" inquired Hermione curiously.

"Yeah. And he looked a bit like Harry, too, and he paid me attention like I wished Harry would … he was very handsome, you know … his wispy black hair – not at all like that mess Harry calls hair – it had a bluish tint, like a raven's, and his eyes … oh, you can't imagine what his eyes were like. They were brown," said Ginny with a dreamy expression, "but not like mine or yours – more like yours, yeah, but darker. They looked so deep … it felt like he could see right into me. And sometimes there was a bit of red in the brown, when he got angry. I always got lost in his eyes," she whispered, a far-away expression on her freckled face.

Hermione had never thought she would be sitting here listening to Ginny Weasley reminisce about the good looks of her long lost love, who also happened to be the most feared wizard in the world.

"Oh, Tom," said Ginny wearily, staring off into space, "why did you do this to me? And why did you leave? You promised you'd never leave me … look how I can't forget you when you – you don't even remember me …"

Then Hermione realised that Ginny had not only fancied Tom Riddle back in her first year, but she _still_ did. And she had been jealous of Ginny's love life just a few months ago, she had been thinking about how lucky Ginny was … _great heavens …_

"Ironic, isn't it?" sighed Ginny. "I've been madly in love with both Harry Potter and his archenemy … I hate you, Tom!" she cried suddenly. "I hate you for making me love you … if only I could make myself forget you …"

"You-Know-Who doesn't remember you," Hermione pointed out.

"I know," said Ginny. "I know it's hopeless, but it's all I have. A memory … that's all he was. Oh, if only I could forget him … if only I could." The younger girl let out a sob. "Why, oh, why …?"

"Why you?" suggested Hermione, remembering what she had been thinking not so long ago. The redhead stared at her. "I know what it feels like, Ginny," she said with a smile. "I guess I'm just luckier than you …" She was frankly surprised that Ginny wasn't yelling at her yet.

Ginny looked up, her bright eyes filled with tears. "You think I'm silly, don't you? That I was a fool to let him get to me …"

Hermione put her hand on the younger girl's shoulder reassuringly. "Oh no, Ginny, I don't. You're forgetting that I know what it's like … I understand. Believe me, I do."

"Really?" her red-haired friend said hopefully.

"Yes, really. You know that."

Ginny sat up suddenly and glared at Hermione. "This is all _his_ fault," she said angrily. "If he hadn't chucked me that diary, none of it would have happened …"

Ginny could never forget how, at the Ministry, Hermione had turned to Harry with hatred on her face, a hatred that contrasted sharply with her earlier expression as she had stared at the Death Eaters – at one Death Eater in particular … it had been a strange look of mingled fear and vulnerability bordering on devotion.

She sprung up in a rustle of second-hand robes. "How far would you go to show him that you care?" she shouted. "You'll join You-Know-Who if he asks you, won't you?"

Hermione got to her feet and faced Ginny aggressively. "I would never join Voldemort!" she shouted at the redhead. "Never!"

"But don't you realise that you already have?" said Ginny. "Don't fool yourself, Hermione. You're already working for You-Know-Who."

The bushy-haired girl shook her head in horrified denial.

"_He _caused all this trouble! He gave me the diary! Why, Hermione?" shrieked Ginny. "What did I ever do? Was it because my father disagrees with his narrow-minded Muggle-hating bigotry? I'm Arthur Weasley's daughter, so I deserved to be forced to – to do these things, right?

"I set the Basilisk on you! And you have no idea, you weren't there, you can't imagine how awful it was in the Chamber, dark, cold – and it's where I would have died if Harry hadn't found it in time!

"What if I had killed someone? What if I had killed _you_?" she said wildly. "Did you forget, Hermione? You were petrified … you could have died … all because of that man and his grudge against my family! But what did Dad ever do to him?

"Can you think about what would've happened if Harry hadn't saved me? Or if I'd been caught? They would have sent an eleven-year-old to Azkaban; Dad would've lost his job and my family'd have been left to starve to death! And _he_ would have laughed … that's what he wanted … it's like we're dirt, he wants us all to die, Hermione! And you fell in love with that man? You fancy that cruel, pitiless Death Eater?"

But Hermione had had enough.

"Shut up, Ginny!" she hissed, eyes flashing. "You have no right to judge – you don't know him!"

"And you do?" scoffed Ginny.

"I – I _understand_ him."

Ginny's eyes widened. "You understand? He almost killed us, Hermione, and you _understand_?"

"He didn't!" said Hermione hotly. "It wasn't him, it was the Basilisk _you_ released when you were possessed by Riddle." She knew that what she had just said was unnecessarily cruel, but she couldn't stop herself. Ginny had it coming, honestly. What else was she supposed to do to shut her up?

Ginny clenched her teeth at being blamed for something she _had_ done, though not willingly. "But who gave me Tom Riddle's diary? He did! You could have died because of him –"

"But I didn't," said Hermione shortly. "I didn't and that's what matters."

Ginny looked at her as though she had never seen her before. "You know – you saw what he did at the Quidditch World Cup. Can you understand that too? Is that justifiable?" she demanded.

"But the Death Eaters at the World Cup – they weren't thinking clearly. They were drunk, Ginny!"

Ginny shook her head in disgust. "You're defending him. I never thought you stupid before, Hermione, but you are."

"Stupid?" said Hermione in disbelief, "I'm the top of the class! How could I be if I were stupid?"

"School marks aren't everything, Hermione," said Ginny, "and you're stupid where it really counts."

"You only say that because you're jealous," the prefect exclaimed, red with anger.

Ginny gave her an almost pitying look. Then she flexed her ankle and winced. "He told Mulciber to get me – they were laughing about it when they heard the bone crack … monsters, the lot of them. How _can_ you love that man, Hermione?"

Hermione looked on the verge of tears. Her lip trembled, but she said nothing.

"HOW CAN YOU?" shouted Ginny again.

"How can you love 'Tom'?" she retorted in a hoarse whisper.

Ginny flinched. "At least _I_ never helped You-Know-Who – or betrayed my friends," she yelled, looking very red. Then she stormed away. She saw herself in Hermione, but she was shocked because she would never have done such a thing – she would never betray her friends and family even if she did have a crush on Tom Riddle. And it had been said that said we dislike in others what we fear most in ourselves …

"Ginny!" Hermione called desperately.

But Ginny did not turn back.

Hermione could have run after her friend; she could have caught up with her in a few strides, being older and taller.

Instead, she ran back inside the school, holding back tears. She rushed through the doors and into the nearest bathroom. Closing the door, she leaned heavily against the wall and let the tears spill.

She caught sight of herself in the mirror. She looked terrible. Her hair was a mess hanging around her face and her eyes were red and swollen; everyone would see that she had been crying.

She bent over the sink to wash her face in cold water when the door opened and a pair of girls entered the bathroom, giggling and whispering amongst themselves.

They quietened when they saw Hermione, who raised her head and saw their surprised faces reflected in the mirror: it was her dormmates, Parvati and Lavender.

"What happened, Hermione?" giggled Lavender, who had always resented her for some reason. "Did your boyfriend ditch you? Oh, wait, you've never had one …"

"Stop it, Lavender," Parvati admonished. "Can't you see that the poor girl's absolutely depressed? Leave her alone." She put her arm around Hermione's shoulders. "What happened?" she asked sympathetically. "Come on, tell us. It's OK, we won't laugh."

"It – it was Ginny," sobbed Hermione. "She's right … how c – could I do such a thing? How could I b – betray Harry?"

"What do you mean by 'betray'? He's not your boyfriend, is he?" said Parvati naively.

"No, I betrayed him as a f – friend … What I did … it was s – something terrible and I feel so g – guilty … Ginny's right, I'm pathetic."

The two girls looked curious. "Then why did you do it?"

"To h – help someone I love," she choked out through the tears.

It was the truth, the unthinkable truth. She loved _him_.

"Oh!" Parvati gasped. "Who is it? Is it Viktor Krum?"

Hermione wiped her eyes and pushed her hair back behind her ear. "No, it's not Viktor," she answered more steadily. "He's really nice and all, but I don't fancy him much – I mean, he isn't even that good-looking … no, it's someone else."

"Ooh, we knew you're a clever witch, Hermione," admitted Parvati. The flaxen-haired Lavender looked as though she wanted to protest, but her friend gave her a felling look and she stayed quiet. "Is he a Gryffindor?"

Hermione could not suppress a snort. "Far from it. He's not at Hogwarts, anyway – he's been out of school for a long time."

"Is he good-looking?" prompted Parvati.

"Oh yes. Very," said Hermione breathlessly. The two girls were looking at her in a new way, she noticed. As though they couldn't quite believe that she was finally acting like a _girl_ …

"Yes, you're _definitely_ a clever witch. But you haven't cried like this since third year," commented Parvati finally. "It's a good thing we caught you – now I'll have someone to hang around when Lavender's _busy_." She sounded spiteful about her friend, though the latter didn't show that she heard it.

"I thought you two were inseparable," remarked Hermione.

"We were, until she found herself a boyfriend," replied Parvati, shooting a hurt glance at Lavender, who was reapplying her eyeliner with her wand, her face so close to the mirror that her nose nearly touched the glass. "Now she no longer has the time to hang out with her best friend – oh, shut it, Lavender – because Seamus's much more important to her."

Then Parvati linked arms with Hermione reassuringly and steered her out of the bathroom, a scowling Lavender tagging behind them.

-

"It's not normal for a girl my age to hang out with guys all the time," Hermione told Harry and Ron when they questioned her about her new friendship with two of Gryffindor's most frivolous, boy and appearance-obsessed girls. "I need some female influence."

"But there's Ginny," reminded Ron. "She's your friend, isn't she? And she's a girl."

A shadow passed over Hermione's face at the mention of Ginny's name, but when she answered, it was in a flat voice. "Ginny's too young to understand. Plus she has her own bunch of girlfriends in her year – she's quite popular, Ginny. And Parvati's really nice – no, come on, it's true, Harry. Despite how you treated her at the Yule Ball, she still likes you …"

Hermione didn't say anything else, because said girl was waving at her from the other side of the common room. She muttered, "Talk to you later" to the boys and hurried towards her new friends. They left for the Great Hall together.

They were having breakfast in the Great Hall when an owl-like creature swooped down on Hermione and settled between two dishes on the table. It was an eagle owl, silvery-grey in colour, with conspicuous ear tufts and round orange eyes, and it was holding a pristine white envelope in its beak.

"Off to the Owlery you go, then," said Hermione, relieving it of its cargo, which was an unusually heavy envelope with the address:

_Hermione Granger  
The Great Hall  
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

The creature flapped its long wings, but remained in its position on the table.

She watched it in puzzlement. "Do you know where the Owlery is?" she asked clearly.

The orange eyes blinked.

Hermione shrugged, turning the envelope in her hands. She broke the seal nimbly and started to read the message, which was in an elegant handwriting on cream-coloured parchment. There was an imprint of a family crest on the top of the sheet.

_Dear Miss Granger,_

_I am writing to you to yet again express my appreciation for what you did for me at the Ministry. I dare not_ _conceive of the calamity that could have occurred had it not been for your thoughtful endeavour. The bird that brings this letter is my gift to you. Accept it as a token of my gratitude._

_You are aware, no doubt, that the Eagle Owl is one of the most powerful species of bird and is a rarity as a messenger. The specimen I send you is the latest fledgling from the stock my family has been breeding for three centuries. Its diet consists of rats, mice and other rodents, birds, fish and reptiles. This includes other species of owl. It has been trained not to harm domesticated creatures, but it naturally regards them as prey, you understand, so I would advise against letting it take abode in the school's Owlery. As long as you remain at Hogwarts, you need not feed it, as it will spend much time hunting in the adjacent forest ..._

Hermione looked up from the message and at the creature that had settled on the back of her chair. "Oh, in that case … you can live in my dormitory, I suppose," she told it. "If that's alright with you two, Parvati, Lavender?" The two girls nodded vigorously, looking at the owl in wonder. "My dorm it is, then. It's the fifth-year Gryffindor girls' dormitory … up in Gryffindor Tower … my stuff's near the window. Oh, and don't hurt Crookshanks – he's my cat. He is _not_ food."

The owl blinked once more, then serenely unfolded its wings and flew off the way it had arrived, through the upper windows of the Great Hall. Girls watched it leave with wide eyes, then burst into chatter.

"Oooh, was that an owl?" asked a first-year.

"It's so cute!"

"Whose was it?"

"Any idea what it brought?"

Hermione was beaming as she left the hall to read the rest of the letter in privacy. As she bounced up the ladder into the girls' dormitories, she had completely forgotten about Harry and Ron, who had luckily remained in the common room and weren't in the Great Hall to notice that her newest acquisition looked suspiciously like a duplicate of the owl that delivered Draco Malfoy's daily post.

She was instantly pestered by Parvati and Lavender – the latter had warmed up to her on her friend's insistence – who demanded that she tell them in the smallest detail what the bird was and why it was with her.

"It's a gift," she told her new friends.

"From –?"

"A _friend_." Hermione winked at them. "Do you mind?" she said, "I'd like some privacy to read this …"

Reluctantly, the girls left the room. Hermione settled on her bed and pulled out the letter, trying to contain her excitement as she started to read from where she had left off.

With each sentence, she felt her cheeks burning hotter:

_... I find myself intrigued by the motives behind your actions, even more since you so cleverly wriggled out when I questioned you on the matter. But I do have an inkling of the nature of your rationale, and as I am extremely curious to see it confirmed, I am sending you an object that I have no doubt you will recognise for its significance. Whether or not you accept it will be answer enough to me, though naturally, the choice is yours._

_I have magically affixed another letter intended for my son to this one._ _I find it more prudent to send it through you – the contents of that letter would cause some trouble if it were to fall into the wrong hands. I trust you to carry out my instructions with caution, and as I find it less likely for the Aurors to intercept a Muggle-born's post than that of my son, I am asking you to deliver it to him in person. Should you accept my gift, he will recognise the item for what it is; do not let this be a shock to you._

Hermione wondered what object he was talking about and how it could be hidden in the letter. A postscript instructed her to _use a Switching Spell – I am aware of your proficiency in those – on this message to reveal the mentioned items._

Smiling, she pointed her wand at the sheet of parchment and concentrated. Slowly, it morphed into a small black box and another, smaller envelope labelled with the name _Draco_. Putting the envelope aside for the moment, she focused her attention on the box, She opened it cautiously.

The inside of the box was lined with dark green velvet, and inside was a gold bracelet encrusted with tiny, sparkling emeralds. It had a snakelike shape and looked altogether like something that would be associated with Slytherin, fitting the house's colour. She turned it over in her hand and saw that there was a minuscule coat of arms engraved in gold on the inside.

Hermione had a distant recollection of something she had read a while ago, probably as far back as in her first year. A description that fit perfectly …

She tried to remember the name of the book. It took a few minutes, but when she had it, she stuffed everything into her bag and almost ran all the way to the library, so excited she was with the idea that this could really be what she thought it was. _Is it possible?_ she wondered.

Her breathing quickened and her heart started beating wildly. Could he really offer her …? _Her_, a Muggle-born … could it be?

She burst through the glass doors into the high-ceilinged library, taking in its walls, covered from floor to ceiling in books, and the polished oak desks in the centre. She stopped just inside the doors to catch her breath, clutching her side.

Madam Pince was by her side in a second, her strict face softening upon seeing her favourite, most frequent visitor, a girl who understood the value of knowledge and treated books with as much reverence as she did. "How can I help you, Miss Granger?"

"Could you find a copy of _Olde Artefacts of Magick _– I think I borrowed it a while ago –?"

The librarian set her feather duster aside and moved to leaf through her register. "_Olde Artefacts of Magick_ … yes, yes … here it is … _lent to H. Granger_ _(22 September)_, three years ago. Just a minute, Miss Granger, I'll fetch it for you."

A wave of Madam Pince's wand sent the book zooming towards them from its shelf. It landed neatly on the librarian's desk and Hermione recognised the purple cover.

"You are borrowing it?"

"No, no, I just need to check something," said Hermione, reading quickly through the table of contents. She shuffled the pages impatiently until she came upon the following:

_**Le bracelet de la maîtresse**_

_The mistress's bracelet is an item of courtship that, if accepted, has the functions of a magical contract that can only be revoked by the giver. By offering this object to a woman, a wizard makes her a proposal to become his acknowledged extramarital companion. By closing the bracelet around her wrist, the witch gives a formal acceptance of the position. Henceforth the bond cannot be reneged unless the wizard officially repudiates her by removing the bracelet._

_Most old wizarding lines have their own customised version of this artefact which had commonly been used among the Norman aristocracy, who in turn appropriated the practice from ancient Rome. This mythical object is infused with magic that, aside from acting as a bond to ensure the wearer's fidelity, also acts as protection to her. At its most powerful, this protection may fend off harmful magic up to the power of an average Stunning Spell._

_This symbolic object is a circle, eight millimetres in width, intended to be worn around the left wrist. It is set with a gemstone of choice and is made of a precious metal depending on the giver's status in the family: gold if he is the head of his family, silver if he is the primary heir, and copper in all other cases. The heraldic symbol of the family is imprinted on the inside of the bracelet._

_This bracelet can only be worn by those worthy of the family name, in the same way as the enchanted wedding rings used in these families, though the bracelet differs in the aspect that despite making the wearer part of the family's genealogy, it does not give her the ability to use the family name as her own. Should the witch eventually join the family in wedlock, as it oft comes to pass, the bracelet needs to be removed prior to the marriage ceremony ..._

"Merlin," breathed Hermione, closing the book in disbelief. He thought she was his worthy companion? He wanted her to become his _mistress_?

"Miss Granger, are you feeling all right?" Madam Pince's voice drew her out of her emotional turmoil.

"I'm fine, Ma'am," Hermione said absently, still in shock. "I'm done with the book; thanks for helping me."

Her eyes were unfocused as she stumbled out of the library.

Struck with a sudden insight, she stopped against a wall and fumbled with her bag. Her mind was extremely clear all of a sudden, and though she still felt numb from shock, she knew exactly what to do.

She withdrew the golden bracelet determinedly.

There was only one thing to do and she couldn't believe she hadn't done it yet. How could she have hesitated even for a second?

She locked it around her wrist with a resounding _clink_.

The splendid jewel set off green sparks every time she moved her hand, and she could not tear her eyes away from it.

_I've succeeded … me, a Muggle-born … I've achieved the unthinkable. _Hermione could hardly believe that she, a Muggle-born, could entice an older pure-blooded wizard … and not just anyone …

She smiled in a haughty way as she pushed the sleeve of her robes down to cover the so widely coveted object. She felt even prouder than when she had been named a prefect. Parvati and Lavender were going be green with envy, even if they didn't know exactly who had offered her such a standing …

-

Pulling the hood of her conjured cloak up over her face, Hermione waited by the blank wall that, she knew from the plan all the prefects knew by heart, concealed the entrance to the Slytherin common room. The envelope for Draco was in her hand.

She had to admit she was curious about the letter's contents, but not for a moment did she think of reading it. She wouldn't betray his trust this way.

When the blond prefect, along with his friends Crabbe and Goyle plus Pansy Parkinson, emerged from a corridor, she blocked the entrance. "I have a message for you," she said, pushing the envelope into the pale boy's hand. As she did so, he noticed the bracelet around her wrist.

He stared at it in surprise. He remembered his father showing him the jewellery in one of the silver chests of family heirlooms and what his father had said about one bracelet:

_If I ever find a woman worthy of my affections – other than your mother, of course – I shall bestow this upon her._

He stared at piece of jewellery, then at the masked face of the one wearing it. It couldn't be clearer that he was simply _dying_ to know who she was.

"Do you know what that is? Do you have any idea how many have _dreamt_ of wearing that?" drawled Draco, wide-eyed, pointing at the bracelet.

The only answer he got was a slight nod of her hooded head.

"You're still a student, aren't you? Who can you be, that my father would give you such an honour? Who are you?" he asked her in a whisper.

Hermione had no intention of answering the question, but when she saw a pair of prefects, accompanied by the Deputy Headmistress, headed their way, she realised that she couldn't let herself be sighted near the Slytherin common room wearing a hood over her face, or she would end up being dragged to Dumbledore's office on suspicions of being a Death Eater. And she had no desire of facing the Headmaster and his Legilimency.

She pushed her hood down quickly, watching Draco for the inevitable reaction. And it was quite funny, actually.

His pale face expressed absolute shock, his mouth moving open and closed without making a sound. "_Granger?_" he said in a disbelieving whisper, horror, anger and betrayal warring on his face as his eyes darted between her face and the circle of emerald and gold around her wrist.

"He never told you the details of what happened at the Ministry, did he? How exactly he got the prophecy?" she said in an undertone. Then, much more loudly,

"Why are you gawking at me, ferret?" she said to uphold appearances, because if she and the younger Malfoy were ever caught talking to each other, it was only to exchange insults. Anything else would have looked suspicious. "Well? Cat got your tongue? I think I should take points from Slytherin for that – you know, as a prefect –"

"What's the Mudblood doing here?" demanded the whiny voice of Pansy Parkinson. "Should I hex her teeth? Or turn her ugly hair into snakes? That'd make her look better …"

"Don't," Draco said sharply, staring at Hermione as though he could not believe what he was seeing. It was simply impossible … unimaginable …

"_Draco!_" squealed Parkinson, looking affronted, "Why are you defending the Mudblood?"

"She is … not what she appears," he said through clenched teeth. _Father would kill me if anything happened to his … mistress … under my watch._

-

She wrote a lengthy response to the letter. She told him about how terrified she had been by the possibility of his death, how the prospect of Voldemort's displeasure with him had frightened her so much that she had found herself no longer caring about the consequences of her actions or what would happen to her friends and even to herself. She told him how she had feared that he would kill her on sight because of her blood and how elated she had felt when he had touched her.

And how amazed yet overjoyed she was that he would set aside his beliefs of pure-blood superiority to associate with her in such a way, to include her in the Malfoy tradition by giving her the famed bracelet … she told him everything.

She found it much easier to speak frankly and to admit her feelings in writing, and she found herself pouring her heart out to him, the man she loved, on a long scroll of parchment. When Ron asked who she was corresponding with, she told everyone who wanted to hear that it was her 'pen pal' Viktor.

"Again?" said Ron. "That's the second novel you're writing for him this year!"

But if Ron had looked at the top of the scroll filled with her neat, minuscule writing, he would have seen that the starting words were _Dear Mr Malfoy_ …

Only Ginny had glanced at her suspiciously, obviously not falling for the lie.

Hermione did not bother re-reading the message; she knew she had been much more forthright than it was wise or than she could ever be in person. She sent it off with her newly acquired owl before she could change her mind.

Afterwards, she spent long nights both dreading and eagerly awaiting a response, and when she finally received one, two days later, though it felt like months, her heart raced and her hands trembled uncontrollably. She expected him to reject her, to laugh at her silly feelings and tell her she was a foolish Gryffindor, or maybe inform her that he found her too plain and would never be truly interested in her that way …

Instead, he was asking her if she wanted to spend part of the summer holidays with him, at his mansion, where it would be just the two of them and '_no interference_', as he was feeling lonely in his mind and would appreciate the company of an agreeable person like her …

_... I have arranged Narcissa and Draco a vacation in France, telling them I could not accompany them this time as I need to prepare for next winter's elections, in which I intend to participate. They will be away for three weeks in July. I will fetch you at your house soon after their departure; you only need to give me the location ..._

Elections? Hermione re-read that sentence, startled. _He's running for office as Minister? _She would make sure to ask how she could help. She had always wished to do something worthwhile, and putting her intellect to use to scheme an electoral campaign sounded like a very exciting project to her.

She tried not to think about the fact that he was probably doing it on Lord Voldemort's orders.

A smile of true happiness must have graced her face, because soon she was pestered by Parvati and Lavender demanding to see the letter, which she promptly stuffed into her pocket. She could feel Ginny's watchful gaze on her when she left the Great Hall.

Hermione didn't think for a second about declining the invitation. Not long ago, she would have given anything for a civil word from him, or an approving smile. And she _had_ given everything, she realised. To save his life …

She had never expected the repercussions to be so dramatic, though she had never entirely given up hope …

Now that her dreams were coming true, she couldn't ruin her chance because of some childish qualms that had never stopped her anyway.

She did not hesitate while writing the answer and thanking him for giving her a chance. She felt only a slight pang of unease. She was giving a Death Eater the address of her parents' house … but she didn't let herself worry about it too much. He wouldn't use the information to harm her family, would he?

_But_ _he _is _a Death Eater_ …

Everything Ginny had said was true. But it didn't change anything; it could not change the fact that Hermione loved him.

-

She cornered Parvati in their dormitory the next evening, making sure Lavender was out – snogging Seamus, of course.

"Parvati, have you ever … I mean, can you tell me what it's like … have you ever _been_ with a boy? I mean," she said hastily to the now blushing Parvati, "in his letter, _he_ asked me – I'll be spending part of the summer holidays with him – but don't tell Harry, or Ron … or Ginny. But I just thought … what if he, er, asks me to … umm … _sleep_ with him?"

Hermione looked at the floor, anxiously waiting for the other girl's answer. Both of them were flushed and Parvati was giggling. "Sorry, Hermione, but I don't have much experience either," she admitted, embarrassed.

"You mean you're not … you've never …" Blushing more deeply, she tried again. "You're still a …"

"A virgin, yeah. You'll have to ask Lavender, though, I bet she knows – she and Seamus never put things off too long," Parvati said with another giggle.

Hermione was getting used to the girl's typically _girlish_ attitude, and she found it was less awkward to talk to her than it had ever been in her friendship with Harry and Ron. There was just a special, natural kinship between girls, and it was something boys could never understand. She, who had never had a close female friend before, hadn't known what she had been missing by restraining her social circle to the two boys.

"But Lavender's such a – a gossiper! She'll tell the whole school that I'm _inexperienced_!" Hermione stated, blushing darker than ever.

Parvati looked scandalised. "I'm sure she won't! Lavender's a nice girl, once you get to know her."

But Hermione wasn't prepared to take her word for it. She would have to learn on her own, then … she couldn't exactly ask her mother about it, could she? Not unless she wanted another impassioned speech about the dangers of love and the innate wickedness of the male gender. Not to mention being forbidden to leave the house for the entire summer for even _thinking_ about such things …

"You know, Hermione," Parvati's voice cut through her thoughts, "I never thought you to be the type …"

She knew what her dormmate was getting at, and she stopped her quickly. "Viktor invited me to Bulgaria once, did I tell you? Mum and Dad wouldn't let me go, though. Mum always told me that if a boy invites a girl to his house, he has only one thing in mind … I don't think that was true about Viktor. But I'm not going to tell them about it this time … I'll tell them I'm spending the summer studying for the NEWTs at the Weasleys'," said Hermione, looking pleased with herself.

"The NEWTs?" said Parvati, looking at her as though she thought she was mad. "But that's more than a year away!"

Hermione grinned. "I know that, Parvati. But my parents don't. They're Muggles, remember? They have no idea how things work at Hogwarts unless I tell them. But you're right," she said more seriously, "I wasn't _that_ kind of girl. But then …"

She paused, looking vaguely through the window at the setting sun. She tossed her bushy hair back before continuing.

"I found such behaviour shocking and unacceptable. But now … with _him_ … it's different. I don't think the idea's so repelling actually … before, I just couldn't see why a girl would want to … sort of … fawn over a man."

"But now you do?" Parvati prompted excitedly.

"Well, _something _happened. I fell in love," she said in a dramatic whisper.

"Ooh," breathed Parvati. "That changes everything, doesn't it?"

Hermione sighed. "Yes, Parvati, it does."

-

The door of Harry, Ron and Hermione's compartment on the Hogwarts Express slid open halfway into their journey home after another year at Hogwarts.

"Hey, Potty, Mudblood, Weasel King – have you heard? My father's going to be a candidate for Minister for Magic! I bet _your_ father will be really pleased about that, eh, Weasel King?"

"You son of a – filthy Death Eating scum –" said Harry angrily.

Crabbe and Goyle cracked their knuckles threateningly. But Draco was too busy watching Granger, who had an unexpected expression on her face. Her eyes were flashing, her mouth set in a thin line. The others weren't watching her, but he saw her mouth moving as though she was muttering an incantation, and as he looked down, he noticed that her hand was wrapped around the handle of her wand, which was concealed in her sleeve.

"– all decent people know your family's a bunch of good-for-nothing murde—"

Suddenly, Potter's hair turned a vivid green. Draco broke out laughing, and he wasn't the only one. To Harry's shock, Ron started laughing too, and so did Hermione.

"What?" said Harry, clueless as to what they found funny.

Ron and Hermione glanced at him and sank into peals of uncontrollable laughter again. Malfoy was laughing so hard there were tears in his eyes.

"What is your problem?" said Harry, his anger rising.

"Sorry, mate," Ron said through gasps of breath, "you hair –" Ron laughed again.

"Umm, Harry," said Hermione, wiping her eyes with her sleeve, "your hair's gone a – well, an _interesting_ colour." She drew out a pocket mirror and passed it to him. "Here, look."

Harry glanced cautiously into the mirror. His eyes widened in horror.

"Trying to look like a Slytherin, Potter?" said Draco, guffawing. "It's a futile attempt."

"Undo it now, Malfoy, or I'll –"

"For your information, Potter, I did not jinx you. Was my wand anywhere in sight? By the way, that was Dark magic, so I bet you five galleons it won't be coming off anytime soon."

"How did you know it was Dark magic if you didn't do it?" demanded Harry.

Hermione rolled her eyes. What kind of stupid question was that? What did the ability to _recognise _a jinx have to do with casting it?

"You know nothing about the Dark Arts, Potter, but that doesn't mean _I_ –"

Hermione's eyes widened. How dim-witted could this boy be? Didn't he realise he was putting his family's reputation in danger by carelessly boasting about how much Dark magic he knew? Didn't he realise people would, sooner or later, wonder where he had learnt it?

Draco stopped talking when the whole compartment burst out laughing, his cronies as much as the Gryffindors.

Harry had opened his mouth to retort, but his words died in his throat and he, too, started laughing. Malfoy's hair had gone _red_, and not just any red, but bright ginger, like carrots. _Weasley red_. Ron laughed so hard he fell off his seat and rolled on the floor of the compartment.

Harry looked over at Hermione, who was sheathing her wand, her shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

Malfoy looked at his friends in bewilderment. "What's the matter with you two?" he asked them.

"Um, Draco, it's your hair," grunted Crabbe. Goyle nodded vigorously.

"What about my hair?" said Draco, sounding annoyed.

"It's – umm – red," said Ron through gasps for breath, and promptly dissolved in laughter again.

Harry threw the mirror at Draco, who caught it distractedly. He took one look at his reflection, then his eyes widened and he flushed with embarrassment. "Granger, take it off!" he demanded

"Harry, you don't look half bad. I mean, green goes well with your eyes. But _you_ –" she said, turning to Draco, "red hair doesn't suit you. At all."

"I said, take the jinx off!"

"Sorry, but as you said yourself, there's no counter-spell." She grinned nastily. "Oh, don't worry, it will fade … in a few months."

"_What?_ Granger, you wouldn't dare," said Draco, looking alarmed. He could imagine the look on his father's face if he got off the train looking like a _Weasley_ …

"I was joking," she said calmly, giving a flick of her wand in his direction. But Draco's hair remained red. "It will fade the moment you get off the train."

"You better not be lying, or my father –"

Now _that_ was a scary concept. She winked at him. "Don't worry, I'm not," she said, unable to fully keep the mirth out of her voice.

"Crabbe, Goyle, we're going," he said to his sidekicks. But, at the compartment door, he turned back. "Have a nice summer, Grasspot, Weasel King, and –" he paused for a second, "the Mudblood with secrets. Grasspot, have a nice time with your dog – oh, wait, it almost _died_, didn't it? Oh, poor Potter, would you like a tissue, so that when it dies for real, next time, you'll be prepared?"

Harry's face twisted in rage, his eyes flashing the same colour as his hair. He pulled out his wand and walked slowly towards Malfoy, a frightening expression on his face. For a moment, Hermione considered sitting back and watching him hex the Slytherin prefect into unconsciousness. He deserved it. But… she glanced down at her prefect's badge, then at the circle of emerald around her wrist. _Great, just great, _she thought. _Now I'm stuck protecting the ferret …_

"Ignore him, Harry, just ignore him," she said, pulling Harry back and trying to prise the wand out of his hand.

"Get out of the way, Hermione," he growled, trying to push past her, but she wouldn't budge. "I'll show the bastard …"

"Harry, _no_!" shrieked Hermione. While they were struggling, the Slytherins hastened to leave, but not without a final parting shot from their now red-haired leader:

"Lie low, Potter, and you just might survive the summer, now that the Dark Lord has returned … you know how much we would all miss you –"

Hermione forgot about holding Harry back at that moment. "Now, you'd better be careful about what you say," she said warningly. "Do you really think it's a good idea to give away so much _information_?"

Draco actually seemed abashed for a second. Looking troubled, he muttered, "C'mon," to his cronies and the three left the compartment in a hurry.

"What's that supposed to mean?" said Ron. It was a good thing they had forgotten what he had called her – _the Mudblood with secrets_.

"You should've let me hex him," said Harry, rubbing his knuckles. "Good job, though, how you made him leave … I bet he's worried, now, the arrogant bastard …"

-

Hours later, Draco Malfoy, whose hair had returned to its usual blond colour, stepped off the train into the warm air of a sunny afternoon London.

Platform nine and three-quarters was bustling with students dragging their trunks and making their goodbyes for the summer. Involuntarily, his eyes sought out a mane of bushy brown hair in the crowd.

Granger was walking at a calm pace, as though staying deliberately behind – and thus out of sight – of Weasley and the green-haired Potter. Unusually, she had attached part of her bushy hair with a clip at the nape of her neck, and Draco had to admit the style did not look bad on her.

Her gait faltered and her cheeks turned pink when she caught sight of his father standing on the platform with the other parents. Potter and Weasley, who were involved in an animated discussion about Quidditch, did not notice.

Hermione blushed, remembering vividly what she had written in her last letter. It seemed he was recalling it too, for he nodded his head to her in the hint of a courteous bow, watching her with an unsettling glint in his eyes.

"Father, what –" started Draco, intending to demand an explanation for this hypocrisy. His father had taught him Mudbloods were filth, and now –

"I owe her a debt, Draco. Had it not been for her aid, I would surely be dead or in Azkaban at present." His father gave him a look that spoke of suppressed fear – fear of the Dark Lord's wrath. It was only thing that could frighten him so. "Surely you are familiar with the significance of a wizard's debt?"

Draco was shocked. "You owe her a wizard's debt?"

"Indeed. Though I am beginning to feel it is not as dreadful a thing as I would have thought …" he said pensively, and his eyes followed the girl's retreating form with visible interest. "Not a word, Draco," he said before Draco could express his outrage. "Do hurry with that trunk; I haven't got all day."

Hermione lingered as Harry and Ron vanished through the magical barrier between platforms nine and ten. Harry's emerald-green hair had attracted much attention and she couldn't stifle a giggle at the thought of how his obsessively prim Aunt Petunia would react to her nephew's additional abnormality.

She turned back one last time, smiled and raised a hand in farewell. Her sleeve fell down just enough to reveal a bracelet of emeralds that sparkled magnificently in the light of day. The enigmatic smile on Lucius Malfoy's lips grew more pronounced.

In a whirl of her cloak, the bushy-haired girl disappeared through the barrier leading to the Muggle King's Cross station where her parents were waiting, bursting with questions about another year at that extraordinary school where their daughter studied _magic_. They would be disappointed that this summer they would see her even less than usually.

Hermione's cloak fluttered in her step, her prefect's badge gleaming against black fabric in the afternoon sun as she walked towards the brown-haired couple who were waving frantically to her. She was carrying her trunk in one hand and Crookshanks's basket in the other, having previously instructed her eagle owl to fly home from Hogwarts – she doubted it would have appreciated being locked in a cage, and it would have been unwise to be seen with it. She had made her farewells to Parvati and Lavender earlier, promising she would write them during the summer with all the details they liked to gossip about.

She hadn't bothered to change out of her Hogwarts uniform. For the first time, she didn't care about the weird looks she got from the Muggles in the station. She was a witch and she felt comfortable dressed like one. Why should she hide that she was different? It was not her problem that some Muggles were so narrow-minded. And robes didn't look _that_ out of place on a girl, even to Muggles.

Let them think what they wanted. They were a world where she hardly spent a few weeks per year, a world which was becoming more and more alien to her, and every summer, she couldn't wait to get back to Hogwarts, to the wizarding world. To _her world_. But never with as much impatience as this time …

_END  
for now._


End file.
